Regeneration
by Westward
Summary: Red vs Blue. Post Revelation. When Freelancer West Virginia, beleived to be dead, finds her way to Valhalla, she brings unwanted burdens to the Simulation Soldiers. With her is the secret of success, and downfall, of Project Freelancer. However, West's actions awaken a forgotten faction of the UNSC, and they are determined to hunt her down and anyone associated with her.
1. The Struggle

In a far off forest in the middle of an alien world, the weather was wretched. It had been raining for almost three months straight. And it wasn't just a light sprinkle, no, it was a torrential downpour. The ground was being hammered down endlessly by raindrops. Somehow, the ground was covered by dense, slippery moss that had the ability to live through the never ending rain.

The forest was ancient; at least as old as the Earth. The trees that made up the forest were extremely tall. If someone could even see through the constant rainfall, that person would not even be able to see the lowest branches. It was a mystery how the rain even came through the unseen canopy, but it did.

There was no life other than the robust plants in the forest. No living thing could survive in such an intense environment, except for the alien moss. There were no bird calls, no ground rodents rustling on trails, not even the small buzzes of alien mosquitoes to annoy the hell out of a person. It was as if even nature itself had labeled this place as non-livable.

But the army disagreed with all the natural signs. In a war, nothing was more important than winning it. Except for the fact that it wasn't technically a real war. This war was just a simulation ran war program, just to test actual soldiers before they go into battle.

There were only two bases. Both were elevated to escape the flooding water. There were no windows that were visible on both bases. If there were any, they were covered in the same ground moss found everywhere. There was one door for each, both tightly shut to keep the water from flowing in. Impossibly thick, the doors and base walls were made to last through an atomic bombing.

Some vehicles were left outside, probably before the huge storm had started. One base had a tank that was now completely covered in green. If one could see through the rain, they could barely see the tank's outline. The other base was littered with demolished car parts that were also covered in green. Abandoned by their previous owners, the vehicles now belonged to the alien planet.

However, one vehicle had survived the storm. Though it wasn't outside in the harsh conditions. It was a badly beaten Mongoose, which rested inside one of the two bases. It was covered in scorch marks and bullet holes. The front glass was originally cracked, but the owner of the Mongoose had smashed the glass out to see through it. All in all, it looked like it had gone to hell and back, multiple times.

But the Mongoose didn't belong to these two bases. And neither did the soldier that was currently living in one of the two bases. It was a soldier, who faked their own death and was now AWOL. It had been several years since this soldier's feigned demise, so no one would have noticed her in the deserted bases.

The base that the soldier was squatting in had almost no power. She lived by the Mongoose's dim headlights. But she could see; she was known to see more than any other soldier in the war.

There was a radio on, but it contained mostly static and white noise. As the soldier's paranoia had grown, she modified the radio so it couldn't be traced to her coordinates. With a little bit of elbow grease, the two way radio became a one way. It probably wasn't a smart decision in the long run, but the soldier ignored that fact. Her actions had caused damage to the radio, and most information she got through the dumb thing was broken and made no sense.

But anything was better than the silence that picked apart the woman's already deteriorating sanity. Plus, through the broken radio, she was able to hear some of the names of fallen soldiers. Soldiers that were very much like her. Every day, Command would list the dead as if taunting her, like dangling a piece of meat over a starving dog. The list would never change, but each word was like a dagger to the soldier, causing internal pain that could not be treated. She listened to the radio in the Rec. Room of the base. She would lie down on the musty couch and would focus on each of the names listed, hurting inside and remembering.

"_Ohio . . . Kansas . . . Carolina . . . Kentucky." _The announcer would list every single day, _"Idaho . . . New York . . . Delaware . . ."_

It was never in any particular order. It was different every day. The suspense was horrible, but the soldier couldn't bear turn the crappy radio off.

"_New Jersey . . . North Dakota . . . South Dakota . . . California . . . New Mexico . . ." _It would continue, no emotion showing in the man's voice. _"Maine . . . Wyoming . . . Vermont . . . Arkansas . . . Colorado . . . Oklahoma . . . Hawaii . . . Oregon . . . West Virginia,"_

The names of her friends ran through her partially insane head. Each name would echo, but in their own voices. She could hear Delaware's half-stuffed mouthed muffle, New Mexico's immature tone, and even Ohio's never ending jokes. She could hear York's encouraging laugh, North's serious nature, and South's insulting remarks. It sickened her so much that sometimes she would just throw up.

Some of these soldier's were not just colleagues. They were her friends, her teachers, and some were even her own family, since she never really had one. They meant more to her than her own Father had.

"_Alaska . . . Virginia . . . Rhode Island . . . Georgia . . . Illinois . . . Connecticut . . . Mississippi . . . Indiana: Imprisonment for insubordination . . ."_

Of course, some of them were lucky. Some were able to escape, like herself, but were never able to cover up their trails well enough, fast enough, and smart enough. But only three others were still alive, all were captured at the collapse of the project.

"_Pennsylvania . . . Michigan: Imprisonment for destruction of military property . . . Texas . . . Wisconsin . . . Tennessee . . . Alabama . . . Montana . . . Louisiana . . . Arizona . . . Iowa . . . Nebraska . . . Minnesota . . ."_

It crawled along at snail's pace. It was pure torture. But the soldier continued to listen, just to see if one more name was added to the list. 

"_New Hampshire . . . Massachusetts . . . . Maryland: Imprisonment for the Murder of a Superior Officer . . . Missouri . . . Nevada . . . and Utah."_

The soldier let out a deep breath. Nothing had change since she had inhabited this drenched climate, which was about four months ago. Her own name was called in that list, but she had survived. She imagined that some other Freelancers had survived, but she had a sort of a gift for disappearing, and the others didn't. She knew deep down that all listed soldiers had died or have been killed. Best not to get her hopes up, just for them to be shot down again. But one thing kept her alive and sane. The one name that she clung onto for stability, for hope even, had not been mentioned.

She sighed as the report seemed to end. The soldier headed for the kitchen and crazily hummed a tune she didn't know. Through the light of the Mongoose's headlights, she rummaged around the musty, old cabinets, searching for a can of beans. She found one and headed back into the Rec. Room. She sat down on the old couch and took off her helmet and the rest of her armor. She wasn't heading outside for a long time, so why would she continue to wear her sweaty old armor.

Once she was out of her armor, the soldier stretched out. It felt so good to her to let her skin breath. She also took in a deep breath as she picked up the can of beans again. She popped the lid open and dug her fingers into the beans. She was never a big bean fan, but when that's the only thing left in a frickin' deserted base, you didn't have much of a choice.

Once she was done with her beans, the soldier grabbed all of her armor and stored it in one of the base's deserted closets. It smelled terrible in there, but she thought her armor couldn't stink more than it already did. When she was sure her armor wouldn't fall out of the closet, she headed back for the old couch. The young soldier fell onto the couch, and a cloud of dust pillowed around her. The light of the Mongoose lit the dust up like disgusting snowflakes.

The radio buzzed with life again, and the soldier snapped to attention. Usually, it went dead for hours before reading the list again. She stopped chewing as the man's voice came through the static.

"_One more name for the list I just read . . ." _the man said.

"Please, no . . ." the soldier said allowed in a child like voice.

" _. . . Washington: Killed in Action . . ." _

The soldier dropped the remains of the can of beans on herself and held her head with her hands. If she could remember how to cry, she would have. But she lost that ability as her friends had been killed.

She had held onto Wash's name for the longest time, knowing that there was at least another Freelancer that had escaped, had survived. But now she was truthfully alone, and she had no AI to be alone with.

The soldier must have fallen asleep through her mourning, because she woke up at what she assumed to be the next day. She got up and checked the clock on her beaten up Mongoose. She sighed as she saw that it had only been four hours since the radio list.

The young soldier headed to the bathroom. She was thankful that for some reason the plumbing was still working. If it hadn't, she would have left this base manly due to the smell. Quickly, she turned on the sink's faucets. Water poured out of it, colder than anything the soldier had felt. The young soldier cupped her hands and allowed a small pool of water to rest there. She sighed as she let the cold water sit there until she felt her hands go numb from the cold. She then splashed the water on her dried sweaty face.

It felt so good to her, finally awake and alert again after her nap. She took a quick look in the gunk covered mirror. Her ugly reddish brown hair was a disaster, partly because she had always cut her own hair. And she was never good with scissors, so her hair was a mixture of badly cut short strands and the occasional long, natural strands. The soldier had bangs, but they were cut way too short to be nice looking.

Her eyes were a deep blue that clashed with her ugly hair color. They were the type of blue that pierced into a person's hearts and intimidates them. But usually too many people were laughing at her bad hair to be scared. The young soldier had dark circles under her eyes, as if she hadn't slept in weeks. They've been there forever, and they showed no signs of disappearing any time soon. She also had some freckles, but they were turning paler as she spent more time in the base.

"Time to get back to work." The soldier muttered to herself.

The soldier headed to the unused dining table that she rigged to be her work bench. On it, were tools and technological parts that she rummaged around both of the bases. Her own life depended on this work, and she knew it. She had slaved the last four months away on this thing, and she wasn't going to give up. She knew she didn't have much longer, and that only made her work faster.

She sat down on a musty smelling chair and bent over on one of the several pieces of hardware she stole from her last raid on Command. The soldier still couldn't believe her luck at finding these things, but it had come at a great personal cost. And now she was trying to repay her debt.

She worked cautiously, as she was slowly losing control of her own body. Through the months, her brain had been shutting off unneeded functions to keep itself alive. What she lacked now was her ability to think clearly, and her ability to walk had been severely damaged. She now walked like a drunk and spent most of her time sitting. Her arms had been feeling heavier each day as she was beginning to lose strength. Most of the time, her head hung low because she didn't have the strength to hold it upright.

But the soldier continued to work away, and she even continued to hum, and sometimes, even sing. Even if she didn't know the words to the right song. If anyone could hear the soldier, they would have thought she was insane. But to her, this was fighting to keep her sanity.

"Someone's in the kitchen with Dina." The soldier would partially sing and partially mutter. "Someone's in the kitchen I know. Someone's in the kitchen with Dina, da da da da da da da. . ."

The soldier continued to sing through her work as a last ditch effort to keep her brain running. It was barely working, but her brain held on.

"Ouch!" She exclaimed as she shook her left hand frantically. She had burned herself when she was welding her project together. In fact, she hadn't noticed the pain for a long moment, and in that time, she had severely burnt herself. It was a stupid mistake, as she hadn't seen her own hand in the way. "I need to hurry. At this rate, I'll be a human vegetable by next week."

But she knew she was so close to finishing her small project. Maybe within the next hour, she would be done?

The thought of being done sped up her progress. Through the light of the Mongoose, she bent over the dining table and fixed her attention at the device, half functioning like a real human. Even with one mistake, the project would be ruined and she would have to start all over. Which was something she didn't have time for.

As the hour drew to an end, so did her project. A wide smile spread across the soldier's face. Well, it was a smile for her, but to anyone else, it would look like a creepy smirk. She didn't have enough facial strength for a real smile, and even if she did, she still wouldn't have known how to smile correctly.

In front of her, the mechanical life that she slaved away for four months began to give off its own light. It was a bright green light that she was very familiar with. This surprised the soldier, as she expected an orange light instead of the green one that was in front of her. But it was faint, as if it was clinging for life itself. Very much like her. Before it had to time to die on its own, the soldier shoved the device into her storage compartment in the back of her upper neck.

As both technology and flesh met, a burst of energy surged through the soldier. Her eyes opened wide with shock from the electrical currents running through her fatigued body. It surprised the soldier and she fell out of her chair and hit the ground, gasping for air. The surge of energy knocked the wind out of her, and she felt like she was truly dying. She focused all of her strength on controlling the foreign device's presence before it could take control of her.

It was a fight for her body, but only she knew it. Slowly, she battled against the presence, knowing that she couldn't give in after coming so far. The soldier's body shook as if she was going through a stroke or seizure of some kind. Against her own judgment, she let out an ear piercing scream that would have rendered others, even herself, deaf for at least a couple hours.

But as the seconds ticked by, feeling like hours, the soldier was claiming back her own body. Mentally, she shoved the device back into its share of her head. The device's aura stayed where it was shoved, as if knowing its place.

Together, the soldier and the device balanced each other out and began to automatically repair themselves. The soldier crawled across the floor towards the couch, gasping like a fish out of water. Through a lot of effort, she made it onto the couch and she lay on her back. The soldier knew exactly what to do and focused on controlling her breathing rate. If she didn't, she would have to go through that painful process all over again.

The devices' presence made itself noticeable again, but it wasn't as aggressive as before. It was now friendly and actually helping her rebuild her sanity.

"West Virginia?" The AI asked the soldier. It looked as confused as it could get and sounded dreadfully shocked.

"Hey . . . Delta." The soldier muttered with the last breath of strength before passing out.


	2. Catching up on Lost Time

West Virginia woke up hours later, feeling crappier than ever before. Sure, her body was now inhabited by an AI to help make her healthy again, but implantations always had bothered her and the other Freelancers. Her head felt groggy, and when she moved it, a searing headache formed. She felt like she had a hangover, except she never had a sip of alcohol in her life.

And the only reason West Virginia woke up in the first place was to expel the bad beans that she had eaten. Quickly, she grabbed for a trash can by the old couch and forced her face into the brim. The outcome was a megaphone like sound of her gagging. Her spine recoiled every time beans were heaved out of her stomach. After a couple minutes, her body had stopped heaving; she tossed the half full trashcan behind the couch, not really caring if its contents spilled.

"Ungh . . ." West Virginia groaned out of pain and rolled over onto her stomach.

"Good morning, Agent West Virginia." Delta said through her head, bringing a wave of pain through her head. His voice was like a train's whistle right inside her own ears.

"Shut the fuck up." West Virginia muttered through her pain.

"I see; you are experiencing the side effect of an implantation after an extended period of time." Delta analyzed, bringing another wave of pain.

"Delta!" West Virginia threateningly muttered at the AI. She quickly spat out the remaining vile substance in her mouth.

Delta stayed silent as West Virginia tried to repress the throbbing enough to have a somewhat sort of conversation. And with her weak state of mind and body, it took her the better half of a long hour to achieve that. West Virginia's head was still clogged and barely had enough for two minds, rather a conversation between those two.

West Virginia pulled herself into a sitting position and rubbed her temples to ease some of the pain. To help her out, Delta decided to appear visibly rather than be confined inside of her damaged head. The room glowed the green light that Delta appeared as, making the Mongoose's headlights seem dimmer than a wet match in a dark cave in comparison. West Virginia closed her eyes so she wouldn't go blind.

"It seems that I am still alive." Delta stated.

"No shit." West Virginia spat out. Her headache was starting to go away, but she was still in a pretty bad mood.

"I would like to know how. My data banks clearly state that I was destroyed in an EMP blast caused by Agent Washington. How did I survive?" Delta asked.

"You seriously believe that all military equipment is destroyed in an Emp blast?" West Virginia snorted and ignored the fact that Delta said Emp wrong, "Most of it actually is. But not all."

"I do not understand." Delta said.

"What I mean is that since AIs are too precious to be deleted after their Freelancer is killed, they're too precious to be destroyed by an Emp blast. Remember back during the prime of Project Freelancer that I was stationed in engineering for a couple of months?"

"Ah yes . . . that was when York was on Mission Red Winter." Delta connected, "You gave us important equipment vital to completing the mission."

"Yeah, well the engineers and scientists I worked with were trying to keep something from me and the other Freelancers stationed there at the time. Every time we asked something about how our AI units were made, they would claim it was classified, or they would ignore the subject. It even got to the point where there had to be at least three engineers for one Freelancer. They were watching us like hawks to make sure we didn't get any information about you guys. " West Virginia explained as she continued to rub her temples. "As predicted, Phi and I got . . . curious."

Delta didn't answer, but he looked as if he was absorbing every detail imaginable. He was curious too, just like I was. West Virginia continued her story.

"At night, I broke into their records and searched for something, anything! Finally, after an hour of dodging guards and other Freelancers who were working late, I found something that must have been what they were hiding. It was about the AI segments of Project Freelancer and how to recover them in emergency situations. I read it right there; I didn't want to leave with it. Someone would have noticed that it was missing. But I was right; there was something that we Freelancers weren't supposed to know. And apparently, neither were the AI units."

"My data banks show nothing of retained information." Delta stated.

"Well that's sort of the point of classified. Anyways, I found out that there was some sort of preservation box that all AIs had in case of an Emp blast. Apparently, the military had been working on this kind of material since the Cold War. But that didn't make much sense to me." West Virginia said.

"The Cold War was a period of great tension between the two superpowers of the late twentieth century. This was acclaimed the highest period of tension since the collapse of the Roman Empire. It was heightened by the extreme buildup of nuclear warheads. The world was on the peak of a nuclear war and all countries were trying to find ways to survive a nuclear holocaust. Nuclear Weapons have since been banned in the mid twenty second century." Delta overly informed West Virginia.

"Honestly Delta, I don't give a fuck about the past. I have enough trouble with the present." West Virginia snapped. "Anyways, the stuff that they've been working on for centuries is supposed to prevent electronic stuff from being fried. It sort of locks the AI into a microscopic box that conducts the Emp around it, saving the AI in the process."

"I believe it is called an EMP, West Virginia." Delta corrected.

"Fine, EMP, then. But from what I can tell, the preservation box only works once. If another preservation box isn't installed, you could be lost again if another "EMP" wave hit."

"That seems like a logical system of security." Delta approved. "You just had to open my preservation box to regenerate me. And you learned how to do it in the file that you had stolen."

"Exactly. But easier said than done." West Virginia said as she slumped back down. Talking had tired her out, and the pain was getting worse. "Let me sleep for a while, okay?"

"I will not disturb you while you are recuperating." Delta said as he shut off his visual hologram.

The world went back from the green to the dull grey that West Virginia was used to living in. It was now suitable enough for her to open her eyes again. Already, her head was clearing up of pain. West Virginia began to focus on her breathing again.

West Virginia didn't instantly go to sleep, her mind was buzzing with the presence of an AI. She was glad that she was saved from rotting like a vegetable. Thankfully, Delta knew enough about her so she didn't have to ask him for help.

But Delta wasn't Phi, her own AI unit. But for the moment, he was close enough not to matter. She'll be angrier at herself when she felt better, or at least saner. But she still missed Phi's own personality. Delta actually seemed like a computer while Phi acted like a brother to her, protective of West Virginia one second, and then immature the next. Phi seemed . . . human and she treated him like that while the other Freelancers treated their AIs as property. At least York was kind to Delta. If Delta hadn't known West Virginia during his early years, Delta wouldn't trust her at all.

The thought of York brought waves of memories that were repressed back to West Virginia's mind. And as West Virginia finally sunk into unconsciousness, those memories found a way into her dreams.

* * *

A plastic tray toppled by an enormous amount of sandwiches was tossed in front of West Virginia. West, who was in an unusually bad mood, just looked up from her seat in the cafeteria. In front of her was Delaware, Deli, who had already grabbed one of the several sandwiches and had eaten half of it. Deli leaned over the table and stared at West Virginia, as if she was trying to read her mind. She smiled like the kid she usually acted as.

"Whatever you're doing Deli, it's not working." West muttered as she grabbed the nearest sandwich.

Deli laughed as she sat down on the opposite side of the table. Her laugh was muffled as she stuffed the last of her first sandwich. Deli even started her second sandwich before she stopped laughing.

"I just wanted to see how you were doing with the implantation." Deli said. "I still can't believe you were one of the first to get an AI. How does it feel, having two minds in the same head?"

"Well, it feels weird, hearing two different thoughts at the same time." West said.

"Is he with you right now?" Deli asked.

"Is who with West right now?" A voice behind West asked.

West turned around while nibbling the crusts of the sandwich to see New Mexico, North, and Kans approaching. The three took their usual seats, New Mexico sat right by Deli, his arm around her like any boyfriend would do. Kans sat by West, barely making a sound as she sat in the chair. And lastly, North, who sat between both New Mexico and Kans. The left half of our usually full table remained unoccupied.

"We were talking about West's AI unit. I don't get mine until the next implantation time in about six months." Deli explained.

"Yeah, I won't receive mine until next year." North nodded his head.

"To tell you the truth, I don't think I want one." New Mexico added before thinking. "I feel sorry for those who have them.

"Gee, thanks!" West exclaimed.

"Oh, but I'm sure you'll do fine, West. You're the first of us to get one. We're just curious." New Mexico tried to apologize.

West rolled her eyes and continued to nibble on her sandwich. The three who just arrived took their picks of the sandwiches. Each thanked Deli for getting them sandwiches before digging in. The pack of Freelancers ate in silence for a couple minutes.

"So?" Deli pressed on. She leaned over the table; her dog tags swinging around in midair as if to emphasize her excitement. "Is your AI with you right now?"

And before West could control her new AI, it activated its holographic form and appeared in front of her four friends. It appeared as an orange humanoid form, the same size of West Virginia. The AI was decorated with an intricate pattern of slightly darker orange lines that looked all science fiction like. Coding dotted all over its body, swirly around as if it was sorting through data. Its orange hair was messy and standing straight up at different angles, like it had just gotten out of bed. It smiled fiendishly as if it just pulled the best prank ever created.

None of West's friends jumped back; they were all trained to hold back their surprise. But she could see it in their eyes. West had already experienced the rush of an AI's presence and had expected it.

West's AI just took the open chair next to her and sat in it, passing through the table in the process. It continued to smile as it got into a comfortable sitting position. If it actually had normal skin color, and no intricate patterns covering his body, you could probably think it was a real person.

"Hey, I'm Phi. And yeah, I'm here right now." West's AI said in his playful tone of voice.

It was silent at the table as the other Freelancers tried to digest this. Actually, most of the Freelancers that were in the cafeteria went silent and stared at the first AI unit that they saw. A wave of embarrassment shot through West, and she tried to shy away from the orange AI. Phi just laughed like the child he acted like.

"Can you please stop that? Wait until some others get AIs." West begged.

"Naw," Phi teased West, "it won't be as much fun then as it is now."

"Do it now or I'll tell the medics that you're defective. I'm sure they'll happily give me a new AI. And hopefully a less rude one too." West resorted to threatening, her face as wild as a maniac.

Phi's electronic expression changed to one of seriousness. Phi and West had a small staring contest, seeing who had the stronger will. Natural blue eyes against the holographic orange. Apparently it was West who had the stronger will, because seconds later, Phi flickered before vanishing.

Everyone who was at the table was staring at West. West ignored the stares and continued to eat her first sandwich. After a couple minutes of silence, West looked up to see them all staring at her still.

"Even if I just had the implantation three hours ago, I can already tell he'll be a big pain in the ass." I said, trying to get everything back to normal. They quickly tried to regain their laid back attitudes, but failed as they kept staring at West.

"Hey! I heard that." Phi said aloud so the others could hear him.

This shocked everyone even more, if that was possible. The young soldier gave them a look to tell them that she had enough of their fish eyes. They eventually got the point and tried to strike up another conversation.

"So . . . do you know where York, the Carolinas, and South are? They're never late for lunch." New Mexico hastily asked. "Sometimes they're here even before Deli."

"North Carolina wasn't feeling so good, so South Carolina took her down to the hospital wing. York is having his AI implanted soon, so he's getting prepared." Kans finally contributed to the conversation, her voice as soft as a breeze. "I don't know about South, though, I haven't seen her all day."

"She's probably making out with the new Ohio that shipped in. I don't know what has gotten into her these past few months." New Mexico said in a disgusted manner. "Maybe she's just trying to impress that new shipment of recruits that came in last week. She just _has_ to be better than the rest of us."

"Don't say that, New Mexico." North said, defending his twin sister, "She's just having a rough time. It's been hard on both of us. South . . . just shows it more."

"Yeah, by sucking tongue?" New Mexico argued. After that, he sarcastically added, "South totally seems troubled."

It was silent at their table after that. Everyone knew that Deli's first boyfriend here was the first Ohio. Ohio died early on though; he made just one stupid mistake and paid for it with his life. When the second Agent Ohio came in the third shipment, he looked almost identical to the first. It drove Deli mad to see such a familiar face. And just the idea of that bitch South sucking tongue with him was just insult to injury.

Deli tried not to show any pain with this information, but it was hard. New Mexico comforted Deli, being the perfect boyfriend for her. She angrily stuffed her third sandwich into her mouth, trying to ignore her friends' looks of concern. In the process, she turned away from everyone, isolating herself.

North was turned away from the table. He was also having difficulty, but it was from trying to ease tension between his friends and his sister. North sighed; he always felt like South's father. Whatever South did, he had to clean up after her. But North loved his twin dearly, and nothing could ever get between them.

"Uh oh," North added, "Here comes the new recruits."

They all turned towards the main entrance to see the greenhorn Freelancers enter the Cafeteria. Some tried to look macho and fit in. Others looked scared and nervous. West smiled, thinking that the latter was what they all should have been feeling. Project Freelancer was your worst nightmare.

West smirked as a brunette and a redhead entered the long line to pick up sandwiches. The redhead looked as if he'd rather be lying around or sleeping. The other looked dead serious, and West could feel his feelings as they rolled off of him. This person did not want to be part of Project Freelancer. This person wanted to be back on Earth. This person didn't want to be a human guinea pig.

The brunette reminded West of herself. Even Phi took notice of this.

"_You share the same feelings with him?" _Phi asked inside of West's shared head, curiosity from his presence creeping into her own conscious.

"_Are you kidding me? We all feel like this." _West answered. _"I don't know how long you've been alive, or created, whatever, but you'll begin to notice this from all around us. Or maybe not, you're just a dumb computer that I'm stuck with."_

" _. . . I may not be entirely human, but I am alive. Sort of." _Phi defended himself, sounding partially hurt. _"Treat me like you treat your friends."_

West exhaled sharply, and her friends took notice. West didn't say anything, but pointed to her head. They understood quickly, but West could feel their curiosity. West couldn't wait until they all had their implantations, so they could share with her troubles. West could feel Phi take in these human interactions, so he could learn more than just being the immature child.

"Excuse me?" An unfamiliar voice said behind Deli and Mexico.

All five Freelancers at the lunch table looked up to see the brunette and redhead from the new batch of recruits standing there, unsure where to go. West gave them a dirty look, but they seemed to ignore her, which just pissed her off more than she already was.

"Can we sit here? Everywhere else is full." The brunette asked in a confident voice that didn't match his expression.

"Sure, go ahead, just for today." North said as he pushed two of the empty chairs out with his feet. He eyed the new recruits suspiciously. "But I can't promise you that they'll be open tomorrow. Four of our friends decided to go AWOL for lunch today. They'll probably be back by tomorrow."

"Oh . . . thanks." The redhead said as he slumped down into one of the chairs. He didn't touch his tuna sandwich; he just rested his head on the lunch table.

The other took his time and sat down nicely. He took each of the experienced Freelancers in, but for some reason he ignored West again. Slowly, he nibbled at his sandwich, as if to digest his situation before his lunch. His stares were met with North's, Kan's, Deli's, and New Mexico's.

"Say, what's your name?" New Mexico broke the silence.

"David." The brunette stated.

"No, he means your _name._" Deli tried to explain.

"It's _still_ David." The brunette said, not understanding the first rule of the Freelancer code.

"What Deli means is what is your code name, your State." North explained rationally, "Here, your real name is replaced by your State name. But we all go by shortened versions of our State name. My name is North Dakota, but everyone just calls me North."

"And, I'm Delaware, also known as Deli. This is New Mexico, just New Mexico, no nickname there. That's Kans, Kansas. Over there is West, West Virginia." Deli introduced everyone.

"Oh!" David said as he finally caught on. "I guess that I'm Washington, then?"

North and New Mexico nodded with approval. New Mexico motioned to the now snoring redhead. "Who's that?"

"He told me that he was assigned to Kentucky?" Washington said.

"Well," North said, finally approving of the new recruits. "Welcome to Project Freelancer, your own personal Hell on Earth."

"Well, technically, we're on an alien planet preparing for war. So it would be Hell on an Alien Planet." Kans contributed in her soft voice.

The five experienced Freelancers let out a fit of laughter. It was an inside joke that only the five, plus South, York, and the Carolinas got. The other Freelancers and the occasional medic and engineer just questioned their own sanity, which was just what Washington and a rudely woken Kentucky were doing.

"Never mind . . ." Kans muttered when everyone quieted down enough for her to speak again.

"So anyways, you two need nicknames. Freelancers are pretty informal with each other. It's the superiors like the Director and the Counselor that we actually go by State names." New Mexico discussed.

"I'm thinking that for Kentucky," Deli said as she chewed on her bottom lip. "Uh . . . oh! I got it. Fried Chicken! Because, you know, Kentucky Fried Chicken."

Kentucky, who was already starting to fall back to sleep just softly nodded his head and muttered, "Sure, okay."

"That settles it. You are now to be known as Fried Chicken." New Mexico said it as formerly as possible. But he did it in such a goofy way that everyone, even the overly pessimistic Washington, burst out of laughter after a second of silence. "You are now stuck with that name forever."

"And I was thinking for you, Washington, was Mr. President." North said.

"What, no way!" Washington rejected faster than the others could get the joke.

"How about Washing-a-ton?" Deli asked a smile so wide on her face that all you could see was white. She was always so innocent, even if she worked in the worst place imaginable.

"How can that be a nickname if it's longer than his real name?" New Mexico interjected, "I'd have to go with Washing tub."

New Mexico's idea was shot down by all the Freelancers at the table. It was then that everyone decided that that was the worst nickname ever and whoever called Washington that was a complete moron. This continued for a couple more minutes, the names mentioned were all pretty bad after that.

"How about just Wash?" West finally joined in this part of the conversation.

It was then that Washington finally recognized that West was there at the table. He turned around and took a quick look at her. His face was full of surprise.

"Why is there a kid here? Shouldn't she be on Earth or something?" Washington asked the experienced Freelancers.

His question was answered by a furious West, who so kindly gave him the finger, "Fuck off."

Washington seemed taken back by West's statement. Everyone could see that Washington had just pissed off the younger Freelancer. Kans did the sane thing and put her hand on West's shoulder to keep her from moving from the chair.

"Did that kid just swear?" Washington asked, not noticing the hostility from West.

"That _kid_ happens to be the youngest Freelancer in this joint. She's been in this project since the age of six. And that was four years ago." Deli defended her friend, no longer kind to Washington.

"Not only that but West is one of the first of us to be implanted with an AI." North added.

Phi noticed that they were talking about him and he focused on the discussion more than he originally was. West didn't like that, and she tried to mentally push him back in place. But he didn't want to, so it was a battle against the minds. In the end, West lost this battle and allowed him to watch inside of her mind.

"Wait, implanted? Never mind, I don't want to know. And what has she been taught in the last couple years? Is it how to get dressed? Or how to tie shoes. How to write her name?" Washington teased.

That did it; West couldn't take anymore crap from this new recruit. She shoved Kans's hand away and stood up. A ferocious look grew on her face that scared Washington a bit. But he didn't take that sitting down. Washington also stood up, and he was almost twice the height of West. Both had their hands balled into fists, ready to be the first to throw a punch. The others watched this happen, half frightened and yet half used to this sort of problem.

Phi was excited; this was more action than he ever encountered in his short life. These feelings flowed into West's anger. The result was a combination of a ready to fight pride, with an excitement of a boy. West felt as if she was on top of the world; something that she has never felt before. Phi's feelings also caused her motives from defending her title as Freelancer to just a rough game that involved bloodshed.

It was hard to tell who was actually in charge, West or Phi?

But just as the tension was at its peak, a pair of strong hands shoved the Freelancers apart with enough force to throw West against the table. West knew these hands; these were the hands of reason and comprehension.

"I'm gone for only one day and everyone is throwing punches at the new recruits. Can't you guys even try being nice to one another?" A Freelancer with a pair of perfect green eyes asked in a no nonsense tone. "You guys were lucky that the implantation was ahead of schedule, or there would be a death on your hands that I couldn't cover up."

"Don't worry, York, it was the usual scenario." North informed the newcomer.

York nodded, understanding this totally and he sat down in the chair next to West's unoccupied one. He motioned for both Washington and West to sit down calmly. After some hesitation, both of them returned to their seats, only giving each other deadly glares.

"Now West," York said in a fatherly figure voice, "I've told you this before, you can't just lash out at people who doubt that you're a Freelancer. First of all, it does show you as a kid and not a soldier that you told me you strive to be. Secondly, you know that there shouldn't be any violence between Freelancers; we're all allies here, not enemies. The enemies are out there, in space. And lastly, don't you think that you should have given him some time before beating him to death?"

West nodded stiffly, knowing that York always knew best. The last part of his scolding was only a joke and shouldn't have been taken as a real statement. But York was deadly serious and expected total loyalty from the young Freelancer, as if she was his own child, or younger sister. West knew that and always did what he anticipated from her.

"And as for you," York said as he turned around to face Washington, "Rule number one: Never get on West's nerves. At least until you get some kinds of combative training. She may be small, but she packs a punch. Just wait until she grows a bit more, and then you've got to be careful _all_ the time. Got it?"

Washington looked like couldn't believe he was being reprimanded like the ten year old, but he nodded so he wouldn't cause any more trouble. His chin stubbornly trembled.

"Rule number two:" York continued, "Never get on Agent Texas's, Tex's, bad side. No exceptions, no questions; just don't. And rule number three: Follow experienced Freelancer's actions, even West Virginia's. If you do, you'll be less discriminated by the others who aren't as nice as us."

York mentioned to our table. Deli smiled and waved to show she meant no harm; all feelings against him were now gone with the wave of her hand, literally. Both New Mexico and North high fived like old bros, and Kans just nodded to agree with York's rules. As for West, she continued to glare, her eyes as cold as ice.

"Who would discriminate against me and the other new recruits?"

York nodded his head, understanding this question, "Well first of all there's Maine and Wyoming, both usually smuggle some stuff in Command that isn't allowed here, like cigarettes and alcohol. North's sister South too, but she's mostly just lip. Next, there's Tex, and I already warned you about her. Some others are Vermont, Mississippi, and . . ."

"Lieutenant McMuffin." A voice that West wasn't familiar with replaced York's own words.

It was then that West realized that this was just a dream, and not really the past as she remembered it. All conversations that were originally in the cafeteria were replaced with the same voice that covered York's words. The voice spoke like a kid; it seemed friendly, but that freaked West out. West was frozen in place as she started to wake up from the dream. During this, the Freelancers were speaking in waves of nonsense by the child like voice.

"That guy Tex . . . is really a robot, and you're his boyfriend, so that makes you . . . a gay robot." New Mexico was saying to Deli. Deli seemed to understand what he was saying, so she laughed. But she laughed in the unknown male voice everyone had.

"Ha ha ha ha! . . . Don't make me mad." Deli threatened.

West looked by Wyoming's table to see him and New Hampshire arguing like usual.

"My name is Michael J. Caboose, and I hate . . . babies!" Wyoming yelled at New Hampshire as if the two were having an argument.

"I am Caboose!" New Hampshire yelled back, "The vehicle destroyer!"

West was now extremely confused. The last time she checked, Wyoming's birth name was Reginald, not Caboose.

Tex walked by West's table, being followed by one of the new recruits. He stopped Tex as if to ask her something.

"Tex, I think you are pretty and you haven't hurt my body in a long time, so I was hoping that we could talk and be friends, maybe. And hold hands and you would go with me, and when you went with me, you would be my real girlfriend." The recruit said in the now timid voice.

Tex just shoved him away, and responded, "I don't want to be dead. I want to be alive, or a cowboy!"

West's world became fuzzy as she was starting to wake up. But one last statement from the mystery man stuck in her mind like gorilla glue.

"Control F+U." The man stated as a fact.

* * *

Yeah, I wrote this almost a year ago. It's pretty bad compared to what I write now. Anyways, the completed story can be found on rvbfics, all you have to do is type that in a search bar. I'll still upload, but I'll probably forget to . . . so go check the site out if you love Red vs Blue.

Oh, yeah, copyrights.

Red vs Blue-Rooster Teeth

Halo-Bungie/Microsoft


	3. Mission Accepted

West Virginia sat straight up as she woke from her dream turned nightmare. West was covered in a cold sweat, and the strands of her hair that were actually long enough to cling to her neck were. West brushed them off and felt the AI storage unit constructed into her neck. She gasped for air as she grabbed onto her pounding heart.

West hadn't had a dream in months. In fact, she hadn't had a dream since Phi was still with her. She knew that with an AI in her head, dreams became more frequent between Freelancers. But it affected her so much that she couldn't dream without one.

West decided that Delta had caused the weird dream. She was not the happiest person to be with now, and even Delta knew that with his logic and experiences with her during Project Freelancer. He appeared at her with the hologram form. A man sized green being sat on the couch next to West, watching her intently with holographic emerald green eyes. His technological patterns were similar to Phi's, and West had trouble looking at him.

"What the hell was that?" West demanded Delta as soon as she could breath.

"It seems that your subconscious is susceptible to being manipulated by AIs. While you were passed out, I accidentally corrupted your thoughts with files of my memory banks. If I had known about that, I would not have caused this deliberately." Delta stated; he tapped his fingers together like a therapist would have done.

"What?" West asked deadly serious. She didn't understand half of what he said.

"My memories were intertwined with your dreams." Delta simplified.

"I figured that part out." West told him, "But who the hell was that in my dream?"

"Can you please elaborate? I have no idea which of my memory files has been leaked." Delta said.

"There was this voice, who just spoke nonsense. But he talked about Agent Texas a lot." West picked from her fading memory of the dream.

"That does not give me sufficient information."

"I can't really remember much other than that . . . wait," West said after she remembered something, "I remember the name Caboose."

Delta became silent as he either analyzed the given data, or if he was hesitant from telling West what he knew. West finally took a good look at him to see small, digital beads of sweat forming on Delta. West briefly questioned if that was possible for an AI to do, just before she stood up to look down at the green hologram man.

"Delta?" West demanded, her voice low but as ferocious as a Lion's growl.

Delta sighed before answering. "After York had been killed in a fire fight between Wyoming and Texas, Agent Washington had recovered my programming. His initial intention was to transfer myself into Command. However, difficulties arose and I was stolen by South Dakota."

"That bitch." West interrupted with blind fury. She had never liked South, and this just pushed her harder over the edge. "I always thought that she was jealous of us because she didn't get an AI."

"Please, Agent West Virginia." Delta scolded, much like York had done a thousand times. And naturally, West Virginia complied without a second thought. "In a series of events that are unrelated to the current situation, I was entrusted with the care of a simulation soldier named Michael J. Caboose."

"Really? Is that all?" West sighed with relief. "You made it sound like a big problem that affected me and all of my friends who are now dead."

Delta was hesitantly silent again. Small beads of holographic sweat formed again, giving Delta a green disco ball effect on the walls. West just looked at him with a mixture of curiosity, fright, and spiraling anger. She crossed her arms and waited for him to spill the beans.

"During my time with Caboose, I had implanted important information inside of his mind for the sole purpose of another AI to retrieve that information off record. It was information that was classified and was not permitted to be released to Freelancers." Delta said.

Delta stood up from the couch and walked over to the faulty radio and studied it for a long minute. He put a green hand through the radio. West rose one of her eyebrows as she watched him. West didn't know if he was trying to pick the radio up, or if he was trying to implant himself in the thing. Either way, it didn't work for Delta.

"The information had affected all of the Freelancers and all of their AIs. This includes both you and Phi. My information had led to the deaths of some Freelancers, including Agent Washington. And for that, I regret my decision." Delta said. "If I retrieve the stored information, I can destroy it before it causes any other predicaments."

"Why can't you just destroy it now?" West asked solemnly, finally drawn into how serious this was.

"Sadly, Artificial Intelligence constructs do not work that way. I had to remove almost all knowledge of the classified information to transfer over to Caboose's mind. If I delete what I do have, I will lose all memory of where most of it lies. This will result in those files being lost forever until some other AI finds them. And that information may not be intended for that AI." Delta said.

"So, we have to find this Caboose before someone else does." West put together. "Or else information, that wiped out the Freelancer Project and set the human race's advantages in an intergalactic war back by at least two decades, could cause an the downfall of the human race and its allies."

"That is correct." Delta stated.

"And exactly how are we supposed to find this one simulation soldier out of the millions left stranded by Command?" West asked as she headed for the kitchen.

Delta curiously watched West look for another can of old beans. She found one and popped it open, "I've been listening to some strands of information. From what I can tell, the Project Freelancer part of Command has been shut down by the UNSC. It's being controlled by other divisions; most of them are Project Freelancer's rivals, the Archytas Program being the main one. Those bastards . . ."

West took a couple handfuls of beans before finishing her rant. She ate like a pig, but Delta didn't seem to notice this fact.

"There's no way for us to find this Caboose." West said through mouthfuls.

"With what I can remember from my time with Private Caboose, he has been known to eradicate his own team members and others who are trying to help him. In other terms, Friendly Fire." Delta said.

"And how the hell is that supposed to help us?" West asked.

"Caboose's team killings had rewarded him with his own publicly accessible page in Command's files. It was made for Command's operatives to record his team kills at a more simple pace. This file has a link to the entire omnibus of Caboose's files. If my data banks are correct, even UNSC operatives could access his files." Delta said as he stood up and studied the abandoned base's computer system. "It even has a shortcut to open it up. If only I could retrieve what the shortcut was, for I seem to have lost it with our last interaction."

"I think that I can remember it." West remembered that little part from her dream that still echoed in her ears. "Control F+U."

Delta stood silent for a couple seconds, pondering to see if that was right. Delta stiffly nodded and then he shut off his holographic form. The light returned to the dim grey. West ate the rest of her beans in silence as Delta rearranged his thoughts.

It was good to have an AI back, West thought, but Delta just isn't the same as Phi. The next AI to be fixed will be Phi, she decided. Delta was just too cold and logical.

"_I need a working computer to go through Caboose's files_." Delta said.

West sighed and headed into one of the unused bedrooms. She didn't use it because it smelled like diseased rodents and rotting brain matter. But she did store some of her equipment in the room.

"So that means that we need to leave my hiding place." West concluded.

West Virginia could feel Delta nodding in her head. She sighed again and felt her way to the metallic closet. West opened it up and could faintly see the outline of her stolen armor. She grabbed what she could and carried it into the Rec. Room. With the help of the Mongoose's light, West began to put the armor on.

She sat on the ground and put the black under armor over her tank top and shorts. It clung to her skin tightly, and if she wasn't trained to ignore it, she would have been freaking out. If felt like a python was trying to squeeze the life out of her. West slowly pulled the black under armor over her arms and tried to push her finders in the appropriate holes.

The under armor was never comfortable, more like excruciatingly unbearable. But it always shoved needed adrenaline in West's system. West soon got the feeling like she was ready to fight. Instinctively, West began to stretch her muscles and began to punch and kick the air, as if it was her opponent.

After her small exercises, West began the other long and boring task of putting the over armor on. She only brought the boot parts with her, so she would have to go back and get the rest. West chewed her lip as she stuck her left foot on the bottom part of the armor shoe. As if it was alive, it compressed against the under armor and stuck to it. She did the same with her right, and the outcome was identical. West felt her feet become heavier, but that was normal to her.

As if like an AI unit herself, West's under armor began to give off a white light in a pattern of turns and twists. This was to help her put her armor on by outlining where the right pieces of armor go, sort of like a child coloring inside of the lines. West was used to this, but Delta wasn't expecting this.

"Is this Agent Carolina's armor?" Delta asked.

"Yeah. I couldn't keep my own armor when I faked my death, and Carolina's armor was unprotected. Actually, it wasn't destroyed like the rest of our armor after we died. I can't believe I was the first one to think of stealing it." West said more to herself than to Delta. "Besides, I can move a lot easier in her armor than I ever could in my own."

"But how didn't Command notice that Agent Carolina's armor was missing, or moving?" Delta pointed out as West continued to put her over armor on.

"Have you noticed that Command only cares for Freelancers who are still alive, or the AI fragments that were left behind? Since I grabbed Carolina's armor about a year after her death, no one bothered to see if her armor was still in the containment cell it was left in. And really, all I had to do was move Carolina's tracking device into another armor of a deceased agent; her twin's." West said.

That seemed to please Delta, because he didn't talk again as West finished putting on Carolina's armor. After the only thing that wasn't covered was her head, the glowing patterns on her under armor dulled down until it wasn't visible.

The suit was heavy, Infact, all Freelancer suits were heavy. But some suits were heavier than others. The small amount of Freelancers that were trained to hold big guns and turrets were given heftier armor that weighed more than others. This was to protect them against larger attacks that only they could survive in. But this made them less agile and flexible. West remembered that agent Maine was granted permission to use that armor.

And then there were Freelancers that were given armor that could be flexible enough for hand to hand combat, but still be able to take a bullet or a two. However, this kind of armor had a weakness. It was much more susceptible to heavy damage that would lead to fatalities. In other words, big guns like sniper rifles were deadly in comparison to the hefty armor. This was the kind Carolina had.

West Virginia, like most Freelancers, got the Mark VI standard issue. It was combination between the heavy and the light armor, both able to bend and carry heavy equipment. Mark VI armor was able to fight in hand to hand, but to survive a stream of bullets. But West could never move as fast as Carolina, or have enough protection against enemy fire as Maine.

But now that she had Carolina's armor, she could never imagine going into battle with something that was like being in a drunken elephant. West remembered having to battle against her armor to move where she wanted to. But now she was like a ninja in the dark: unnoticed.

"Are you ready Delta?" West asked the AI unit.

"All equipments are functioning properly and are at full capacity." Delta informed.

"And my enhancement?" West asked.

"Working properly and efficiently." Delta said.

"Do me a favor and turn my enhancement off by twenty percent." West ordered.

"Understood. Sensitivity enhancement is now operating at eighty percent power." Delta stated.

West nodded and put Carolina's helmet on. The world went dark for a second until the helmet's electronic devices automatically turned on. The once dark room was lit up by her built in flashlight. A temperature gage and clock appeared in the upper right corner of West's vision.

Her health status appeared in the lower left corner of her vision and she took in account at how low it was. West knew slowly that her armor would repair her weakened body a bit. But any damage she took would have heavy consequences to her health. She also knew that a medic should look into her health. But West had a bad history of Medics early during Project Freelancer. She forced herself to ignore that last thought. Right now, she needed to focus on finding an operational computer and locate a simulation soldier named Caboose.

West climbed onto the beaten up Mongoose and slowly drove it around the base's hallways and towards the sealed door. Against her better judgment, West pushed the button on the wall. That button unsealed the door and it opened to unleash a fierce wind and an onslaught of rain drops. The force of the wind slightly pushed the Mongoose back, but West throttled the gas and her vehicle shot forward into the green world.

It was difficult driving on the ragged, slippery ground. Occasionally, the Mongoose's wheels would slip and it would rotate the whole vehicle. West frequently swore aloud when this happened. She put all of her focus on trying to get out of the rainforest. She checked her map in the helmet. About twenty miles north, northwest, there was a break in the vegetation that formed into a road.

West headed into that direction, knowing that that was her way into the forest months ago, and her way out. If it was like before, the road would be deserted. And if she followed that road, she would eventually come into contact of an equally deserted toll booth. A toll booth with a computer.

West weaved through trees and rocks, just barely missing them by inches. Ferns and other shrubbery whipped at her, slashing at her armor protected arms and legs. There was so much moss that everything seemed to meld together. And it didn't help that she was almost blinded from the assaulting rain. Even with her armor enhancement, she couldn't see beyond five feet in front of her. This made West a bit nervous, but she shoved these feelings down and continued down the nonexistent road she was following.

West continued to drive through the forest, going at speeds that others would deem crazy in this kind of weather. But West didn't realize that, she thought she was going at a sane speed. It didn't hit her at all until _she_ hit a disfigured root that was sticking out of the ground. The root was just sturdy and tall enough to stop the Mongoose at full speed.

But it wasn't tall enough to stop West Virginia from flying out of her seat at full speed. She shot off of the now motionless Mongoose and hit the tree that the stupid root belonged to straight on the head and at full force. A huge burst of pain shot through her body.

West screamed bloody murder as she felt to the ground. West felt like a bullet that had been shattered after it was shot. West had felt this amount of searing pain before, but that was a long, long time ago. When she was healthy and had help; not on the brink of death and supposedly KIA. West continued to scream in the silent forest, which had just conveniently decided to stop raining as hard.

"Bloody murder!" West screeched through the pain. "Bloody murder!"

"Please, Agent West Virginia, stop screaming, someone may hear you. You can give away our position." Delta said between the girl's shrieks of agony.

West understood immediately and quieted down. She tried to cradle her head, but she seemed to lose function of her arms, as they hung useless at her side. It was then that she actually began to feel scared. She had learned early on in her training that losing control of limbs meant that something was horribly wrong.

"Delta, convert all energy. . . from the Sensitivity enhancement into . . . the armor's standard. . . healing unit." West ordered through her painfully gritted teeth.

"Converting energy in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1." Delta counted down.

All of a sudden, at least half of the pain had disappeared from her head. But there was still too much pain to do anything but moan. West still couldn't move her arms from where they rested. However, her legs were movable, and she tried to move away from the now cracked tree.

"What's the progress?" West muttered with the only strength she had left.

"Healing units were undamaged and are working at full capacity. However, progress is slow. A medic would be most applicable in this situation. A recovery beacon is being sent to Command at this moment." Delta stated allowed.

"No!" West screeched, "No medic, no recovery beacon. I don't exist. Override recovery beacon."

"Recovery beacon overridden. Though I must say, you have been seriously hurt and medical attention should be a priority." Delta said with as much concern as he had for her.

"No way." West said softly, as she was fading fast. "Transfer energy from tracking, clock, and short distance radio to the healing unit. Do it now!"

"Energy transferred successfully. But I think this might be too much power for a standard healing unit. It could shorten it out and leave the suit in armor lock." Delta informed.

"Understood. Revert tracking energy back from the healing unit." West muttered as she sunk into unconsciousness.

"Stay with me, Agent West Virginia. If you fall asleep in your current state, you may fall into a coma." Delta ordered.

But it was too late; she was already lost in a sea of never ending pain.


	4. Are We Ever Here?

Somewhere else, in a sunny valley, life was incredibly slow and boring for its inhabitants. While the forest was cursed with never ending rainfall, this valley had never seen the night sky. The sun sat still in the same place for as long as the soldiers living there could remember. It was hot, but not dry, because a river flowed through the valley, much to their delight. Well, maybe for one soldier in standard blue armor in particular who was playfully splashing anything within range like a little kid.

Like the forest, there were two bases. One sat by the roaring waterfall that fed the river, the other at the mouth of the river. Unlike the forest, there was no tank. However, there was one crashed Pelican, or the remains of it, as the soldiers used its scrap for their own contraptions. All that remained of the Pelican was its wings and the internal skeleton.

There was a car, but it was also heavily damaged and one soldier specifically spent most of his time working on it. Its windshield was badly cracked, three of the wheels either flat or in shatters, and the turret's barrel snapped in half. It was currently resting on its right side, and precariously about to tip over.

There were other vehicles, but none were in as bad shape as the Pelican or Warthog. At each of the bases rested two Mongooses. The residents at both bases had made an agreement that both teams would share these vehicles in case an emergency has sprung up, as that was in the norm around them. But, as the weeks went by, and the boredom grew, nothing seemed to threaten their lives.

Due to the high temperatures, most of the soldiers were not seen outside. It seemed like a smart idea to them to stay inside and rest the heat away. However, they have been doing that for a couple weeks now, and some soldiers were starting to become restless. The restless soldier decided that it was time to start actual work. For instance, the soldier in standard red armor that continued to slave away on a hopelessly destroyed Warthog.

He was not alone outside; there were two of his colleagues guarding one of the bases entrances. One stood tall and acted very seriously in his maroon armor. This soldier kept his weapon ready, even though he hasn't fired it in a long time. This soldier gritted his teeth as he painfully watched his partner goof off.

The other soldier in orange armor was not serious at all; as he had the barrel of his gun stuck into the ground and was now leaning on the butt of his weapon. The orange soldier would frequently sigh heavily. As the minutes in the hot sun's rays dragged by, the orange soldier began to slump down to the ground. It wasn't long until he was leaning against the base's wall and was just minutes away from sleep.

The maroon soldier rolled his eyes as snores escaped the lazy orange soldier. Before their superior officer could notice the sleeper, and give both of them lip about it, the maroon soldier gave a quick kick to the sleeping soldier. Instantly, the orange soldier woke up and quickly jumped onto his feet. For some reason, he held his dirt filled weapon up and looked for his attacker. After seeing it was his partner, the orange soldier once again put his weapon on the ground and leaned against it.

"Hey." The orange soldier broke the endless silence.

"Yeah?" The maroon soldier answered, finally breaking his unneeded concentration.

"You ever wonder why we're here?" The orange soldier asked in an overly bored tone.

"You know what, Grif? I happen to be asking myself that question a lot lately. I mean, ever since we found out that we, I mean us and Blue Team, found out that we weren't fighting a real war in a real army; there hasn't been a lot of motivation around here. Ever since we killed the Meta, not much else has been happening. We haven't even been spying on the Blue Team; there's just no need. Everything we've done was pointless. For the past several years, we were just pointless guinea pigs." Maroon soldier questioned.

But he didn't stop there, nope, he just continued with no sign of ending. "I'm just surprised that Sarge hasn't gone into denial again like at the Freelancer facility a couple weeks ago. And not even that, why _are_ we here now? For all that we know, Command is probably shut down. We haven't gotten a fake mission from Command, or even a checkup. All they ever do is give lists of dead Freelancers at the same time every day. They finally think Washington is dead, and that Church is still alive."

"So maybe I don't actually ask myself 'why are we here'. Maybe I ask myself why we haven't been shipped into an actually army and make ourselves useful. Or if we're lucky enough, get shipped back home to our friends and family. Why did they just desert us here, as if we're dirt? We are real people! And we should be able to actually do something productive in our short, miserable lives."

The maroon soldier stopped there, finally finished his venting session. He was gasping for air, as if his monologue took up a lot of his energy. The orange soldier, Grif, just stared at him. And the maroon soldier stared back at Grif; his body was still tensed from his overly long speech. It was silent for about five seconds.

"What the hell, Simmons?" Grif said to the maroon soldier, "I just wanted to know why we're we here at the Blue's base, and why the hell the Blues are at our base. It just doesn't make sense."

"Oh . . ." Simmons understood. "Doc thought that even though we haven't been fighting, that there's still too much tension between us. Even though there isn't any. So he came up with the brilliant idea to switch bases at last week's meeting. He wanted us to see how it was like to be on the other team."

"That's stupid." Grif exclaimed as he slumped back down against the wall.

Simmons half-heartedly laughed, "Yeah it is."

It was silent for a second.

"You didn't go to last week's meeting, didn't you?" Simmons asked in an annoyed tone.

"Nope." Grif yawned, sounding a bit proud of the fact too.

Simmons let out a sigh of irritation. Grif just sat laid down, and literally seconds later, Simmons heard some snores coming from Grif again. Simmons headed inside Blue base, leaving his post, but he didn't really care at this point. Simmons walked down the hall that held doors to their rooms. Sarge had his own room, while Grif and Simmons shared theirs. For some reason, they kept the third room unoccupied during their temporary stay at Blue Base. It was like the Reds were just hoping that Donut would come back to life and annoy them to death, like the good old days.

"Get over it, Simmons." Simmons said to himself, "Donut is gone and it's all Wash's fault."

_Meanwhile, somewhere else in the valley known as Valhalla . . ._

A soldier in lightish red armor remained still on the ground of the valley. He was not moving at all; just laying on the ground.

"Uh, hey, I'm not dead. I just can't move and no one can hear my pleas for help." The soldier known as Donut said mostly to himself. "I'm perfectly fine; I think time has healed my wounds too."

_Back at Blue Base . . . _

"Yep. He's gone, and you can't do anything about it." Simmons reassured himself as he headed into the radio room.

Simmons turned on the short range radio and called the Red Base, hoping that someone would answer him. He waited for a couple minutes, all the while still clenching his teeth harder than he thought possible.

Finally someone picked up.

"Yeah?" A familiar voice answered

"Hi, Tucker." Simmons greeted.

"Oh, hey dude! What's up Simmons?" Tucker said over the radio.

"I'd like to speak to Doc, please. I just wanted to know how much longer we have to switch bases. Sarge is getting a bit temperamental; he won't leave the Chupathingy until it's fixed. And I'm pretty sure that it's high time we buried Donut's body. I think it'd be decomposing by now." Simmons summed up.

"Oh yeah, we forgot to bury Church's first body when Caboose killed him. Let me tell you, it didn't smell good." Tucker said.

"Tucker did it!" Simmons faintly heard Caboose yell on the other side.

"Shut up, Caboose! I'm not talking to you." Tucker yelled back at Caboose. "Anyways, sorry Simmons, but Doc and Wash just left a couple minutes ago to get some spare parts from Sheila. They'll be gone for about an hour."

"Wait, why did they need spare parts? What did you guys break over there?" Simmons panicked, his voice going higher in pitch with each word.

"Relax, dude. It was one of our own equipment that was trashed. We barely touched any of your stuff; though we did have the misfortune of Caboose finding Donut's diary." Tucker shuddered, "But like I said, it was ours; Caboose just had some trouble with one of the Mongooses. He drove it straight into a tree! How stupid is that?"

"Again, Tucker did it!" Caboose yelled off somewhere.

"Shut the hell up, Caboose!" Tucker screamed at him.

Simmons sighed. He didn't know which place he'd rather be. Here at Blue Base with a semi-insane commanding officer and a lazy partner? Or back at Red Base with Tucker and Caboose going at each other's necks non-stop?

"Fine, but when Doc comes back, can you tell him to call me? Or can you just tell him this experiment isn't working?" Simmons asked as politely as he could at the moment, which was, of course, not very polite at all.

"Dude, you think that you're the only one who hates this? Trust me; the only person over here that isn't complaining is Caboose! And I don't think he even understands that we switched bases. From what I can tell, he thinks this is vacation." Tucker explained.

"Did you just say that you wanted to switch socks, Tucker?" Caboose asked as he walked closer to the microphone. "Well, okay, but usually I only switch socks with General Butter-Crust. And then I fill his socks with my old candy wrappers . . ."

"What? No Caboose! And how do you even get candy bars; Command doesn't ship them with our supplies." Tucker side tracked.

"Oh, I stored some candy bars into Sheila before Tex left with her." Caboose said as if it was obvious.

"But that still doesn't answer—never mind, just go back to doing whatever you do when you're alone." Tucker ordered.

"Okay. . . " Caboose said as he left.

It was silent for a couple seconds as Tucker made sure Caboose left the room. Simmons let out an irritated sigh.

"I'll call you guys when Doc and Wash return, okay Simmons?" Tucker offered.

"Yeah, fine . . . whatever." Simmons muttered.

Simmons turned off the radio and headed back outside. As soon as he left Blue Base, the never setting sun's rays hit his helmet and his head instantly heated up. Against his better judgment, Simmons took off his helmet and sucked in a big breath of fresh, unpumped air. This was probably what he missed most during his time in the fake Red Army: fresh air. Sure, it wasn't Earth's air, but he didn't want to push his luck.

A loud snore snapped Simmons back to attention. Sure enough, Grif was lying on the ground, holding his weapon as if it was a teddy bear. Simmons scratched his head and ran his fingers through his short hair impatiently.

"God, when are you not asleep!" Simmons asked rhetorically, "Get up!"

Simmons kicked Grif again. Instead of jumping up again, this time he just shook his head like a dog. And then Grif let out a stream of cuss words.

"Dude! Simmons, you never appreciate how hard it is to sleep." Grif muttered half awake. "Especially since it's so hard going in and out all the time.

"No! Don't say that!" Simmons panicked, knowing how wrong that sounded.

But it was too late; Simmons could hear the radio inside of Blue Base turn on. There was static at first, but then an all too familiar, immature voice crowed out a response.

"Bow Chicka Bow Wow!" Tucker cried out before turning the radio off again.

Simmons let out an irritated sigh for the thousandth time today and ignored Tucker's statement. A frustrated Simmons kicked Grif for the third time. Only, this time he had no mercy for his associate. He kicked Grif with so much force that his own foot hurt like hell.

"Ow! I'm getting up, I'm getting up!" Grif proclaimed as he uncoordinatedly stood up. "I bet they don't have to deal with this kind of abuse at Blue Team."

* * *

"And I didn't tell you about the time that I was locked in my hometown's public library for an entire weekend when I was eight." Doc said as he and Agent Washington made their way to Sheila's remains.

Wash rolled his eyes, and tried to tune Doc out. He wasn't successful, at all. Ever since he and the Meta held Doc prisoner, Doc had been growing closer to Wash than a man should have. It was even getting to the point where it was creeping not only Wash out, but everyone around them.

Yeah, Doc had developed Stockholm syndrome with Wash, even though Doc was not necessarily his prisoner at the moment. It was driving Wash insane.

"So . . . yeah, once I was locked in my hometown's public library for an entire weekend when I was eight." Doc restated, "The whole experience caused me to become a pacifist."

"That makes no sense, Doc." Wash told him.

"It does to me." Doc muttered, looking hurt. Wash could have sworn that he was silently crying in his helmet.

The ex-Freelancer and medic jumped off of a rock and landed in the river. The result was that a horde of alien fish attacked Doc as they tried to find their escape. Doc fell down, screaming in the process. The alien fish were startled again, and they again went into frenzy. It was pitiful, yet extremely funny.

Wash let out a slight chuckle and held out his hand for Doc to grab. He gratefully took it and stood up.

"Those fish were way too hostile for my liking." Doc muttered to himself. He rubbed the chin of his helmet, as if he wanted to hold his chin. "I got it! They should learn a thing or two about Chi."

Wash shook his head. Something was wrong with everyone in the canyon, why else would everyone be acting like idiots. Wash only hoped that he wasn't becoming an idiot himself. Or that he wasn't already an idiot.

"There's got to be something in the water." Wash muttered under his breath.

They continued their way to the remains of the downed Pelican. Doc and Wash travelled in the blistering hot heat. Occasionally, some of the trees in Valhalla would shade them as they passed under them. Alien birds sang to each other in songs that neither of the soldiers understood. Slowly they were closing in on the Pelican. During that, Doc was constantly blabbing about stuff that Wash didn't care about. One second it was about vegetarian cuisine, and then to some horrible nightmare he had god knows when.

But the medic meant well. And Wash knew that, he just wished he meant well in a less annoying way.

As they reached the remains of Sheila, some of the forest life that had decided to inhabit her scampered away. Wash instinctively scoped out the area; old habits like military training died hard. His body tensed automatically and he clenched his Battle Rifle tight.

Something caught his eye and he raised his firearm at it. The object Wash saw instantly froze and gave him weary eyes. For some reason, Wash wasn't able to lower his Battle Rifle. Doc saw this and he quickly reacted. He pushed Wash's gun down, and as soon as he did it, the object made a dash for it.

"For heaven's sake, Wash, it was just an alien bunny rabbit." Doc exclaimed. "What did they ever do to you?"

"One time a pack of them viciously attacked a group of Freelancers back during the peak of Project Freelancer. I was in that group, and let me tell you, I was glad I wasn't the poor fella who lost some toes to those alien bunny rabbits." Wash stated.

Doc was quiet as he took in what Wash just said. Wash could just picture the beads of sweat that were forming on the medic's forehead. And he was right, because with that statement, Doc was sweating like a pig.

"Well . . . let's get down to business." Doc said a bit squeamishly.

Wash nodded and they began to look for parts from Sheila that they would use to fix the damaged Mongoose. It was hard, as there was almost nothing left to be used. Wires from Sheila's programming dangled over their heads. Doc's first time here he had the unfortunate luck of having his head entangled. Tucker, with the help of Sarge and Simmons, had to come over and release Doc's head with his sword. During the whole time, Doc was hysterical, and that was the most fun that Wash had had in a very long time. Wash couldn't stop laughing, and it took a good nudge from the Reds to get him to shut up.

That experience scared Doc enough that he never entered the remains of the ship again. So Wash was the one who stepped into Sheila's skeleton and looked for spare parts.

"Do you see any wheels or tires anywhere?" Doc called as he waited outside of the ship.

"Why would you think that there would wheels on a ship that flies in space?" Wash pointed out.

"How about the landing gear? Wouldn't that need wheels and tires?" Doc said as his rebuttal.

"I already thought that; I'm on my way there." Wash quickly said. God, why didn't he think of that? There definitely was something in the water.

Slowly, Wash headed down the tail of the crashed Pelican. The sunlight was blocked and Wash turned on his built in flashlight. He saw mass entanglement of wires and the remains of a partially activated bomb. He knew that was the cause of the crash, and he couldn't believe how well preserved this part of the ship was. Even the part of the bomb that was activated should have obliterated everything within ten feet.

Wash searched the remains to find the landing gear. He removed some of the intact floor tiles to expose the majorly damaged wheels of the Pelican. They were slightly larger than the wheels of the Mongoose, but they would do well.

With great force, Wash was able to disconnect two of the wheels from the pelican. He carried each wheel under his arms as he made his way out of Sheila. Slowly, the sunlight brightened the area, and Wash's flashlight automatically turned off.

"Did you get them?" Doc asked as he saw Wash's figure appeared through the ship's skeleton.

"Yeah, and they're not in that bad shape, actually. Just a couple of dents, but we can fix that." Wash said as he exited the remains of Sheila. "Here, take a wheel. You need some manual labor. And before you can say it, I don't think that 'being a medic' is a good excuse."

Doc groaned as he took one of the wheels. He slumped at the weight of it, but took it like a man. Doc continued to grumble as they headed back to Red Base. They walked slower on their way back. Not because of the weight they were carrying, but to enjoy the sound of the river, and the faint breeze hitting the trees.

"Listen, Doc, we need to talk about this switching base thing." Wash brought up.

"Oh no, Wash, we're not talking about this until this week's meeting tomorrow night. And I can't wait to hear how this experience has changed everyone." Doc said, oblivious to everyone hating it.

Wash sighed, "Okay, tomorrow evening, we'll talk about it with everyone."

"That's the plan." Doc said optimistically.

They continued on their way to Red Base. Only a couple minutes away, Wash froze and dropped the wheel. The wheel fell into the river and sat there. Doc was the first to react and he shot to grab the tire.

"Wash, a rusty tire isn't healthy for anyone." Doc scolded.

Wash didn't respond; he was still frozen.

"Washington?" Doc said with concern.

"I . . . I can't believe it." Wash muttered to himself, completely ignoring Doc, "How is this possible?"

"What is it, Wash?" Doc asked, now getting a bit impatient as he held both wheels.

"I just got a recovery beacon. It was extremely short, as if it was intentionally shut off." Wash tried to explain as he headed towards the top of a rock, as if he was trying to get better reception.

"So?"

"So, that means that there's a Freelancer still out there. I'm not alone, Doc, there is at least one more survivor that Command hasn't tracked down. Or was." Wash clarified. "I may be alone, still. The only reason a recovery beacon goes off is in case a Freelancer had been critically injured, captured, or killed. Or in some cases, all three."


	5. Wrong Place at the Right Time

West was still lying on the ground of the forest. West was still unconscious and in great pain. West was still with Delta, the stolen AI from Project Freelancer. West was still in a forest that continued to pour rain. West was still fighting for her short, miserable life.

West was, however not alone in the forest. Her recovery beacon had not gone unnoticed, even though the recovery beacon was brief. It had caused some interest in a pair of lost soldiers. These two soldiers came in an old, junky Warthog that had lost its turret in battle. They were hopelessly lost in the forest after a wrong turn from their squad. They had been arguing for hours about whether or not to stop and ask for directions, or to continue on their way.

"I'm telling you, all we need to do is turn around in the next clearing and head back in the opposite direction." The passenger soldier nagged to the driver.

"What clearing! You keep telling me that there'll be a clearing just up ahead. But there never is one!" The driver told his partner in an Irish accent. "I say we stop and ask for directions!"

"Look around you! There are no people around to ask!" The passenger exasperatedly cried. "At least my idea has some progress."

"Yes, we are progressively getting more lost. We will eventually find a local village and ask someone there." The driver insisted.

"Dude!" The passenger said through gritted teeth, his arms motioning to the forest. "We are on an alien planet, battling for our lives, _and_ the lives of billions back on Earth. I don't think it's a great idea to stop at an alien town and ask them where a human base is."

The driver stopped the Warthog abruptly. He was hearing something on the radio. The driver motioned for his partner to listen too. However after a couple seconds, whatever they were listening to had stopped and the radio was silent once more.

"That sounded like a recovery beacon from back in the day." The Irish sounding driver stated. "They don't use it anymore."

"Maybe our platoon is using it this one time to reach us and for us to follow them?" The passenger hoped.

The driver nodded, "I was able to get the coordinates, let's go."

And so the pair of rookie soldiers unknowingly headed towards West. Their bickering ended as their hopes got the better of them. Through the rain and vegetation, they inched their way closer to the injured Freelancer. Sooner than later, they spotted West's now mangled beyond repair Mongoose. Without much thought, the two soldiers turned off the old Warthog and exited it. With their guns cocked, they walked towards the ruined Mongoose. They poked it with their Assault Rifles, like little boys poking a dead frog that had both of his eyes popped out.

Delta, who was online and currently studying West's statistics and condition, didn't notice the soldiers until they started to speak up. And when they did, they gave Delta such a fright that he almost jumped out of West's body himself. Even though that was impossible for him to do.

"Dude, this looks beaten up, as if was in the front line." The soldier without the accent pointed out. He then coldly chuckled, "So much for our squad trying to find us . . ."

"Where's the soldier who drove it. It could not have been out here long; it is not covered in moss." The Irish soldier rationally explained.

"Let's take a look around. Maybe he's around here looking for help. He could be hurt." The other said.

They nodded their heads and split up, searching for the soldier who had crashed the Mongoose. Both search in the worst places to look; between rocks, under ferns, and even under their Warthog. They didn't see the wounded soldier in bright blue armor right in front of the Mongoose that was just under a tree.

After ten minutes of the stupid investigation, Delta decided to give the two eggheads a hint of West's whereabouts. He didn't appear in his holographic form. That would be too risky. Rather, he just used West's built in megaphone, and used the same frequency of West's voice.

"Help . . . me." Delta said as weak as he could in West's voice.

"Did you hear that?" The Irish soldier yelled from a distance.

"Yeah, I think I heard it over here!" The other soldier called back from about twenty feet away from West.

One of the soldiers ran directly passed West as he headed towards his partner. To Delta, this was just getting ridiculous. The AI noted that these soldiers were exceptionally moronic. Delta was becoming angrier than he ever had before. It even got to the point where he questioned whether he was the Omega AI construct instead of Delta.

"Over . . . here." Delta used West's voice again.

Finally, but not after some great difficulty, the two soldiers stumbled upon West's injured body. Both dropped their Assault Rifles at the sight of her. Shocked, they quickly looked at each other before bending over West's body. The Irish one grabbed her feet while his partner took her shoulders. Steadily, they carried West over to the Warthog.

"Thank God that she's not heavy." One said, "It is a she, right."

"Sure sounded like one." The Irish one answered. "She sounded pretty hurt; we need to take her back to our base for a medic to look at her."

"That sounds like a great plan! Let's just go back to our base. Just one problem . . . We don't know where the hell it is!" One of the soldier pointed out. In the process, he dropped West's shoulders and she fell to the ground harder than a box of rocks.

"Uh, oh yeah, right . . ." The Irish soldier muttered, following suit and also dropping her feet.

Delta was dumbstruck. Were these actual soldiers, or simulation soldiers? Either way, the simulation soldiers that Delta had encountered before his capture were way smarter than these two morons. Again, Delta was forced to give them a hint. West may not like it, but she needed medical attention, and these two idiots would bring her to it. Delta was monitoring her heart rate; it was still beating, but it was irregular and fast.

"My Mongoose . . . has coordinates out of here." Delta again used West's voice. "Just follow them . . ."

"Thanks lady." The Irish said, "Now rest, you'll need your energy for later."

Carefully, they picked West up again and then put her in the back of the Warthog. More specifically, where the turret once was. West's unconscious body rolled around a bit due to the jeep being on a decreasing slope. Once they were sure she was safely inside the Warthog, they went to check on the Mongoose. Sure enough, there were coordinates that led out of the wet forest.

"Oh, and look, they are in the direction we were going." The Irish soldier pointed out.

"Shut the fuck up." His partner muttered, angry that the idea of turning around would not have helped them. "Let's just get that Chic a medic."

And so the two bumbling idiots hopped into the Warthog. The Irish soldier started the jeep and drove around the damaged Mongoose. But in the process, they ran into it, and suddenly a plumage of fire and smoke pillowed out of its engine. The two soldiers paused and looked at each other, dumbfounded about what just happened before continuing.

After a couple minutes, the Warthog picked up speed. Unlike the Mongoose, the car didn't have to weave through rocks, it just drove over them. The result was an extremely bumpy ride. Agent West Virginia, and Delta along with her, was thrown around like a ragdoll in the back. If West didn't already have a concussion, she probably did now.

The two moronic soldiers continued to argue as they slowly made their way out of the forest. Minutes passed, and soon the ground became smoother. Delta guessed that they must have reached the road. To be honest, Delta didn't think they would have gotten that far.

But Delta had more important things to worry now. Delta shifted his attention to West's condition. West had sustained no injury to her legs or torso, but Delta could make out that her head was damaged. He could not tell how badly injured West Virginia was until she woke up. And he had no idea when that would be.

"_Agent West Virginia, it is of the utmost priority that you regain consciousness." _Delta informed West, trying ever so nicely to arouse her.

His call was not answered. Delta was then forced to use more drastic measures. Once Delta gained control of her healing unit, he pumped minuscule amounts of adrenaline into West's blood stream. Hopefully, that would wake her up.

As minutes ticked by, and the rain starting to disappear, Delta became more nervous. If West Virginia was not awake, the medics would eventually find out that he was being stored in West's AI compartment. They would take Delta out and Agent West Virginia would die.

And Delta would be taken away, and then used for more brutish experiments.

"_You leave me no choice, Agent West Virginia." _Delta warned West internally, _"I once again have to be your punisher. Your Bringer of Justice."_

And with that, Delta forced more adrenaline in West's system than regulation's standard. And to his amazement, West's heart rate spiked up so fast, it was like a bullet.

But perhaps it was a bit too fast. Delta could actually hear her heart racing; something that should not be heard for an AI of his position. As fast as he turned the adrenaline pumps on, he turned them off.

Quickly, he checked her vitals for any ill side effects. Fortunately, there were none. Her heart was still beating faster than it ought to be. But even that was slowly becoming normal. Now he only had to agonize over West's head trauma.

"_West Virginia, please wake up now." _Delta thought.

And to his amazement, Delta could feel her brain patterns falter. A sign that she was gaining consciousness. West's breathing became irregular as she felt the adrenaline in her system.

"_Ungh . . ." _West incomprehensibly muttered her thoughts.

"_Do not move unless I tell you to, Agent West Virginia." _Delta ordered.

West instinctively obeyed. Even on the brink of death, West's training kicked in and she remained motionless. However, her body tensed as she realized that she was moving.

"_What happened?"_ West asked.

"_In your attempt to exit the forest, you crashed your Mongoose caused great damage to your head." _Delta informed.

"_I already fuckin' know that. I mean what's happening now."_West said.

"_Two soldiers, apparently simulation soldiers left by Command, stumbled upon you and are now taking you to their base for medical treatment." _Delta said.

"Shit." West whispered aloud. She quickly caught her mistake, but the two moronic soldiers didn't notice. They were currently arguing about the best kind of pizza toppings.

"_I still need to run a check up on your systems."_ Delta told West. _"You know the drill; please wiggle your toes for me." _

West did as ordered. As unnoticeable as she could be, West wiggled both her toes and ankles. This did not surprise Delta, for he knew that no damage was taken on that part of Agent West Virginia's body.

"_Now the fingers." _ Delta said.

West tried, but only her left hand was able to move along with the fingers. West then focused entirely on her right hand. But her hand remained motionless. West furrowed her eyebrows and put as much energy as she could on her right arm.

Nothing.

"_What's wrong, Delta?" _West mentally went to pieces.

"_You sustained some damage to the left hemisphere of your brain. This has caused your right arm to become paralyzed. It is quite common with head injuries."_

"_Is it permanent?"_

"_In most cases, yes. However, from what I can understand from your brain waves, your left hemisphere, along with your arm, will only remain paralyzed for nineteen days, approximately."_

"_Is that usual?"_

"_No, but that is because your standard healing unit will help speed up the progress."_

"_What if I obtain an advanced healing unit?"_

"_The time of healing would roughly decrease to eleven days."_

That seemed to quiet Agent West Virginia as she planned a way to find the advanced healing unit that some Freelancers were usually granted. However, in her mentally damaged state, West's plans were poorly made and destined to fail.

One of her plans even involved a llama.

Delta realized that she would be a threat to her own health and the health of others in her current state. She did need medical attention badly, no matter how badly she wouldn't want it.

"_I can't see out of my right eye . . ." _Agent West Virginia said after a couple minutes of silence. She sounded somber, and weak, something she wouldn't admit to.

"_Also temporary. However, it will take more time healing than your arm." _Delta stated.

And then, without even meaning to, both West and Delta thought of York. No words formed, but the mental image of their friend and companion appeared. West shed a single tear from her sightless eye. She now realized how York had spent the last years of his life, she never thought how horrible it was, not seeing half of what she should have. Even after the few minutes after realizing it, it drove her mad.

Delta was, of course, used to this. But it did bring back repressed memory files about the accident caused by Agent Texas. Delta again felt a deep feeling known as frustration. Thoughts about what he could have done to avoid the accident swirled around his figurative head.

It was silent in their shared head for a long period of time. However, that too was shattered.

"_I see you have a plan for getting us out of here." _Delta noticed

"_Yeah, I do. But I'm going to need you to help me." _West half heartedly asked.


	6. He's Not Coming Back

Caboose was told to go do whatever he did alone. Usually that meant spending time with Church. Church was his bestest friend, and he always knew what to do when they were together. Church was smart like that.

One time, Church was being a really great bestest friend, and he told Caboose to go hiking.

At first, Caboose thought that meant they would go hiking together. And they would have a picnic together. And they would find bears together. And then they would run from the bears together. And then they would get caught in freezing rain with the angry bears together. It would have been so much fun.

But Church didn't go, so Caboose had to do all those things by himself. It was fun, but not as much fun as it would have been with his bestest friend. Especially when the alien bears attacked him.

All in all, Caboose missed Church dearly.

Anyway, Caboose knew what he wanted to do alone. Very carefully, without trying to trip, Caboose made his way to the top of Red Base. It was a great view, and Caboose thought that he could see everything in the whole world. That made him smile a bit.

Caboose made his way to the man cannon and then eyed it suspiciously. It looked like a jet of blue colored air that was aiming towards the waterfall. Caboose quickly took a Grenade and threw it into the man cannon. The man cannon made a weird sound and the live Grenade flew into the air. After a couple seconds, the live Grenade exploded in the air.

Did that mean that Caboose would explode too if he used it?

He never really liked the man cannon. Caboose only used it once before, and that was when he and Church were helping Agent Washington. And Church used the man cannon before Caboose did. Church didn't like the man cannon, and usually Church knew what was right.

But Caboose had to put down his fear of the man cannon. It was the fastest way to travel in Valhalla, and even he knew it. Caboose gulped and made sure his helmet was on securely. It wasn't, but he thought that it was.

Before Caboose could think about it, which would have taken a couple minutes, Caboose literally flew his body into the man cannon.

Caboose felt his body become weightless as it was propelled forward through the open air. He screamed a bit as he waved his hands. At first, Caboose thought that he was flying, but then he remembered the Grenade that had just exploded. He started to panic.

"Ah!" Caboose screamed through the air. He dropped his Assault Rifle and it fell to the ground. "I don't want to explode!"

During this, Sarge was conveniently walking around the bottom of Valhalla just under where Caboose's line of flight was. Sarge was looking for any parts of the Chupathingy that had fallen off during its last adventure where the Meta smashed the engine. He couldn't see any that were in plain sight. So he had to search behind every nook and cranny. It was like a snipe hunt, and Sarge hated it.

"Stupid Meta, stupid Washington." Sarge grumbled to himself as he clutched his shotgun as if to channel his rage. "Why do they have to break everything . . ?"

Suddenly, Sarge heard Caboose's screams of terror and something about exploding. Out of curiosity, Sarge looked up to see a blue armored body flying towards Blue Base. Actually, plummeting would have been a better word to describe Caboose.

If this had happened two years ago, Sarge wouldn't hesitate to kill Caboose. Hell, even a couple weeks ago Sarge would have shot at the Blue rookie. But after learning that the Red vs. Blue War was a lie, he couldn't bring himself to hurt the little Rascal. In a way, Caboose reminded Sarge of himself. But only in a mentally disastrous way that could only make sense to Sarge.

"What in tar nation?" Sarge exclaimed aloud as he saw Caboose drop his gun.

Sarge watched dumbstruck as Caboose's Assault Rifle plunged down to hit him square in the head. The force caused Sarge's brain to rattle around his skull. It didn't really hurt, but his thoughts became cloudy and he couldn't think straight.

Sarge stumbled around, trying to find a rock to steady himself on. He couldn't find one, so Sarge ended falling to the ground, shotgun still in his hands. Sarge's mind blanked out for a brief second, and then it was back online. During the process, some of Sarge's recent memories had been erased.

"Huh? What happened?" Sarge muttered to himself as he tried to stand up. "Where are you Simmons? Give me some figures, stat!"

But Sarge's calls went unanswered. Sarge looked around his surroundings out of confusion. To his amazement, and stupidity, Sarge found himself back in Valhalla.

"How did I get back here? Isn't the Meta and Agent Washington here?" Sarge asked himself. "I thought we were at that Freelancer base trying to put the Blues back in the computer?"

As Sarge was trying to figure out the current situation, Caboose had finally landed. He hadn't exploded, much to his delight. But Caboose had fallen face first, and Caboose could feel his lip split slightly. Caboose got up off of the ground quicker than anyone ever could and he took off his helmet to try and keep the blood back in his body.

"Now you stay in there." Caboose ordered his blood. "Or else we're going to have to have a serious conversation about personal space!"

After a minute of useless scolding, Caboose ignored his still bleeding lip and he headed towards Blue Base. He ignored Sarge's distant cries for Simmons and curses at Grif. Slowly, Blue Base appeared in front of Caboose like a castle or a sanctuary. Caboose's speed picked up as he started to run towards his home. He missed his home; he didn't like his vacation at Red Base at all.

As Caboose approached one of Blue Base's entrances, he could make out Simmons and Grif in his yellow armor. They were good guys, Caboose thought; they had always helped him whenever he asked. They would help them, and then they would promise to kill him. Caboose liked promises. Promises were something that couldn't be broken. But the Red had broken a couple promises before.

Simmons spotted Caboose first, and instead of raising his gun at Caboose, he gave him a friendly wave. Grif, who was sitting on the ground, gave Caboose a nod and then continued doing nothing.

"Hey Caboose!" Simmons greeted the Blue, and then he saw the gory mess on Caboose's face. "Man, do you need help with your lip?"

"Hi . . . Simmons." Caboose said as he got closer to them, he ignored Simmons question because his brain couldn't keep up with Simmons' words.

"What'cha need, buddy?" Simmons asked cheerfully as he tried to disregard the Caboose's blood. Simmons had learned that being angry at Caboose got you nowhere, so he commanded himself to be friendly to the Blue Idiot.

"Oh, Tucker told me to go do whatever I do alone. So I came here." Caboose explained like a little kid.

"But you do realize that we're here," Grif stated to Caboose, "so you can't do what you do during your alone time."

"Oh," Caboose muttered. He quickly exchanged looks from Grif, Simmons, and then he gazed down the entrance's hallway. "Can I go in there? And then! . . . I will be alone."

"Sure, buddy." Simmons approved, "I mean, it is your base after all."

"Thanks, guys! You don't know how happy you make me right now!" Caboose jumped in the air and clapped his hands. A huge smile appeared on his face; his eyes glistening like big puppy eyes.

"Uh, I think we get a pretty good picture of how happy you are." Grif pointed out before dozing off yet again.

Caboose ran into Blue Base like a little kid. His hands ran down the side walls, and that left little gun powder trails that showed where Caboose was heading. Caboose didn't go into the Rec. Room. He didn't go into the blue decorated kitchen. Nor did he run into his room that was now being inhabited by Simmons.

Instead, Caboose ran straight into what would have been Church's room. Church hadn't been to their new base yet. But all of his belongings had been shipped with Caboose after he kept the Epsilon Unit. Church's room had remained untouched since then. Sarge would have gotten this room when they changed bases. But Sarge had told the Blues that he refused to sleep in a Blue Army room and decided to sleep on their couch instead.

Caboose just stared at the room, making extra especially sure that nothing had been touched. Church's Sniper Rifle was still on his old, beaten up dresser. Caboose bent down to inspect it to see if someone was messing with the scope. No one had, and that made him happy, because then Church would have been happy.

Caboose then went to the closet and opened it. Inside was a pair of Church's fuzzy slippers. Caboose picked the left one up, and sure enough, there was the hole that Caboose made a couple years ago. Church was so happy when Caboose made that hole that he said that he couldn't possibly replace them. It was something about Command wouldn't let him. Command was nice like that.

Caboose quickly hugged Church's old slipper and then set it back down by the other one. He closed the closet door and then crawled under Church's bed. He wanted to make sure that the plate of cookies and the glass of orange juice was still under there. It was a tight squeeze, and Caboose managed to get himself stuck. Caboose wiggled a bit to see if he could get loose by himself, but it was almost impossible.

"Church . . !" Caboose whined for help. But no help came; the halls just echoed his pleas. He stayed there, still waiting for someone to help him. But still, he was alone, like he always was. No one ever wanted Caboose around. He didn't understand why; he was always nice to everyone. Caboose became upset; his lips trembled as he tried to hold back tears. "Church . . ?"

Still nothing but a halfhearted repeat of his cries. They sounded depressed, which only made Caboose more depressed. Caboose could feel hot tears escaping from his eyes. They left clean trails on his dirt covered trails. Soon, he could start to taste his tears, and they were very salty. The salty taste only made his bad lip feel even worse.

"I miss you Church . . ." Caboose muttered to himself.

Suddenly, something grabbed Caboose's ankles and he felt someone pulling on him with tremendous strength. Caboose instinctively tried scrambling forward away from what was grabbing him. It hurt him a bit, but Caboose ignored the pain. Slowly, Caboose was dragged unwillingly out from under the bed.

Caboose turned around to see Agent Washington staring at him through his helmet. Wash had his arms crossed, as if he was motioning that he wanted an explanation. Caboose didn't understand what Wash wanted and he just climbed onto Church's bed.

"Hello Agent Washington." Caboose said through his sniffles.

"Hi Caboose." Wash said as he sat on the bet next to the Blue Team's rookie. "Do you want to tell me why you were under the bed?"

"Oh," Caboose thought for a second. "I forgot."

Wash sighed, "Do you want to tell me why you're in here?"

"I miss Church." Caboose stated quickly; no need to think there.

Wash nodded his head, understanding. "I know you do. We all do."

They sat there together in the dim lighted room. They sat in silence as each one tried to think of what to say next. Both found support with a framed picture of Blue Team on the wall. The photo was taken during the peak of the Blue Team in Blood Gulch.

Everyone was there. Tucker with his sword and a suggestive grin. Caboose who was hugging Church with a big smile and his eyes closed. Sister, who had her arms around Tex and Tucker. Tex, who was scowling and trying to ignore Sister's touch; a Magnum was in her open hand. Church with his angry face and his black hair covering his deep blue eyes. Sheila, her barrel pointed towards the camera with Andy resting on top of her. You could even see Doc's head just above of Sheila's treds, kind of scared to be a part of the photo. Everyone was happy, except for Church who was trying to push Caboose away from him.

"Agent Washington?" Caboose started to ask a question as he continued to stare at the team photo. He didn't even break his concentration on Church's face.

"Yeah, Caboose?" Wash his head around to face Caboose again.

"When is Church coming back home?" Caboose sniffled and turned to face Wash as well.

Wash sighed as he tried to find the right words. He knew this was going to come up eventually. But he was never prepared to have this conversation. This was like having _the talk_ with a kid, except not as embarrassing.

"Caboose, Church . . . isn't coming back home." Wash bluntly said as he twiddled his thumbs.

"Why not? He came back before. From Epsilon." Caboose pointed out.

"Yes, he did. But that was a onetime thing, Caboose." Wash tried to explain. "There isn't another AI unit that could take Church's form. There aren't any AI units left at all; they were all destroyed. He's not coming back."

Caboose took that in surprisingly well . . . mentally. He understood every word that Wash said, partly because he had already known the truth. But emotionally, Caboose was starting to cry again. His big, puppy eyes were glassed with tears that shined the light off of them. Caboose rubbed the snot off of his nose.

Wash actually felt sorry for the idiot. In reality, Caboose was just a little kid, and should have been treated like one. Wash tried to put his arm around Caboose to comfort him, but Caboose just cringed away from his touch. Wash remembered that sometimes he scared Caboose, and that the kid needed a real friend to comfort him.

Too bad Caboose didn't have a real friend.

Wash got an idea just then. Quickly, Wash stood up and grabbed the top blanket of the bed. He pulled it under Caboose like a magician. Wash aired it out and then placed it around Caboose's shoulders. Caboose took kindly to this gestured and pulled the blanket closer to him.

He inhaled the smell of the blanket. It smelled like Church. Caboose could even pick out some of Church's old hairs that were tangled into the blue blanket's fabric. These were the only parts of Church that had remained over the years. It was Caboose's last connection with his bestest friend.

Wash got up to stand by the bedroom door, he held it wide open. He attentively watched Caboose cuddle with Church's old blanket.

"Let's get back to Red Base." Wash stated, knowing that they spent too much time here. "I'm not going to let Doc pick out dinner again. I've had too much rabbit food for one lifetime."

Caboose nodded and stood up, Church's blanket still covering him. Wash thought that Caboose looked like a blue nun. They walked down the halls in silence. It wasn't an awkward silence like before. This silence was accepted, partly because Caboose was finally mourning for his loss. And partly because Wash felt remorseful for Caboose.

As they made their way outside, Caboose did something that he didn't mean to. Shyly, Caboose made his way into Wash's hand. Caboose grabbed tightly to it, scared to lose someone else close to him. Wash was surprised at first, but didn't push Caboose's hand away. Instead, Wash gave it a friendly squeeze of encouragement.

Caboose secretly wished that Agent Washington's Freelancer Powers would make him feel better soon. Or at least do something that would help him out.

"Promise you'll stay with us." Caboose ordered Wash.

Wash was a bit startled with Caboose's abrupt authority. But he nodded anyway.

"I promise to stay with you, Tucker, and Doc at Blue Team." Wash said, actually meaning it.

"And don't break your promise. Church promised to read a book with me, but he never did." Caboose said, remembering that moment back in Blood Gulch.

"I won't." Wash reassured.

Caboose nodded his head, finally excepting Wash's promise. His thought's returned to his bestest friend, who was gone forever.

"He's not coming back," Caboose muttered to himself. His eyes closed as he focused on his own words. "He's not coming back."


	7. A Lunatic With a Gun

Sooner or later, the Warthog containing West Virginia arrived at one of the bases stationed twenty miles off of the edge of the forest. Here, the terrain was rocky and dry. Off in the far distance, huge, snowcapped mountains could be spotted. Remarkably, there was almost no vegetation here, except for the slowly dying weeds around the rocks and the occasional dead tree sticking out of cracks in the ground.

The Irish soldier pulled the Warthog up to the main entrance of what looked like a simulation Blue Base. The roar of the engine caught the interest of one soldier on patrol. He stopped walking around the perimeter and came over to greet the newcomers. He foolishly swung his Battle Rifle over his right shoulder.

"Hey! What'cha doing back so early O'Donnell?" The soldier asked.

"We got lost. And then we stumbled on a badly hurt soldier." The driver, O'Donnell explained. "Grant and I couldn't just leave her."

"Oh, dude, a Chic?" The soldier crowed in a perverted manner. He slapped his knee with his open hand. "Sweet! I love babes!"

West was listening right there. And that was when she made a mental note to kill him slowly and painfully. Her mind was then tinted with cold pleasure after that.

"Naw, dude, I already called Dibs on her." The other soldier, Grant, proclaimed. "Sorry Rodgers."

Make that two she would kill slowly.

"So where is everybody?" O'Donnell asked.

"Everyone left on that mission, remember. The one you were supposed to go on." Rodgers stated in a dead serious tone. He kicked the Warthog as if trying to make his point. "It's only me and that medic that's staying with us."

"Where is he?" Grant asked.

"On the observation deck. Grab her and I'll take you two to him." Rodgers said as he headed into the base.

The Warthog was turned off and West could feel weak hands grab her limp body. They dragged her across the floor of the vehicle, as if she was just luggage. As she got to the edge of the car, West felt as if she would fall over and lose her breath. It almost happened, but the "simulation stooges" caught her in the nick of time.

With great difficulty, the simulation stooges brought West inside the base. The hot, dry air was cut off as they walked pass the air conditioner. West was quickly covered in goose bumps and was metaphorically sitting on edge throughout her capture.

The simulation stooges stopped for a second. It was silent in the base. West began to dread each second as she thought out scenario after scenario. Did they discover that she was feigning sleep? Or did they realize that she was supposed to be a dead Freelancer?

The suspense was horrible. Were they just going to shoot her there? If they were, she needed to take action soon. But with her right arm useless, how was she going to fight them? The thought of death creeped in both West's and Delta's combined minds.

"God, I fucking hate stairs." Grant muttered.

A way of relief flooded both of them. No shooting, no killing. And that was good.

Slowly, the simulation stooges made their way up the stairs. It took forever, but thankfully, they didn't drop West down the stairs. When they finally made it up to the observation deck, both of the simulation stooges were letting out long streams of cuss words.

"Well what do we have here?" A fourth soldier, the medic, asked.

"We found her in the forest to the south. She's totally unconscious, could barely speak when we found her." Grant informed.

West raised a mental eyebrow at Delta, who just pushed her mental being away from him. It was an AIs way of saying "I don't want to talk about it". West had gotten that a lot from Phi, so she didn't press any further.

"I thought the bases there were abandoned?" The medic questioned.

"Hey, she didn't tell us what happened to her, or why she was there." O'Donnell aloofly stated as both simulation stooges dropped West to the ground.

West's head rang with pain as she hit the floor. But she managed to remain limp instead of jumping up and breaking their necks.

"Let's take a look at her, shall we?" The medic said.

West saw through her helmet her saviors. Though to her, they were more than her capturers; they were her to be torturers. She began to freak out as the medic brought his hands to her head to remove her helmet. Two other soldiers were kneeling next to the medic, as if to see if West was hot. The other soldier was going down the stairs, not really interested in what the simulation stooges found.

Slowly, the medic unsealed West's helmet. West closed her eyes so it would look like she was still knocked out. The medic softly cradled West's damaged head as if it was a newborn infant. He handed her helmet to one of the simulation stooges. He took it, but not with great care. As soon as he got a hold of her helmet, he tossed it aside like junk.

"Wow . . . she looks pretty messed up." Rodgers pointed out. "Just look at her hair."

"Wait a second." The medic said in a surprised voice. West could feel him breathing on her face as he got closer to study her facial features. He must have taken off his helmet as well. "I've seen this face before. But that was years ago."

That was enough for West. Without a single warning, West curled her functioning hand into a fist and punched the medic in the nose. The medic fell over in surprise rather in pain. However, a trickle of blood appeared between his fingers as he held his nose. The other two soldiers also took a couple steps backward.

With her adrenaline filled body, West Virginia jumped up from the ground into a defensive combative position. Her vision became blurry from the sudden movement, but that only lasted for a second. Her right arm lay useless at her side while her left was tensed and ready to fight. Her head also seemed to hang to the right, as if her recent brain damage had caused it.

"Who wants some?" West taunted, her eyes were filled with hatred and she wore a malicious grin.

The shocked simulation stooges got over their shock and got their guns ready. Even the medic pulled out his magnum. It was silent as they tried to find the courage to shoot at the mad soldier.

"Guess no one," West muttered to herself.

It was then that she ran towards the one named Grant. Finally, the simulation stooges and the medic found the strength to pull the trigger. Bullets flew everywhere, but since they were not trained properly to handle weapons, every single one missed their target.

West didn't notice that though, she was focused on Grant. Grant was her target, her prey. And she was the strong, rabid predator. This was her game, and she played it well.

While Grant reloaded his weapon, West took his arm and wrapped it around to his back. She quickly put force into her attack and she easily twisted his arm hard enough for it to break. Grant screamed in pain like a wuss. He instinctively wanted to drop down and cradle his injury.

But West didn't allow it. The other two soldiers were shooting at her, and she was no longer able to dodge bullets by moving. With her strength, West picked up wailing Grant and used him as a human shield. With him, she walked into one of the bases entrances. Along the way, West could feel the force of each bullet that entered Grant's body. Blood splattered everywhere, and soon West's armor was covered in red. He hid by the right side of a storage room.

"How's my six?"West shouted at Delta over the roar of bullets.

"The other simulation soldier has yet to arrive. But statistically, he should arrive in twenty three seconds via the door to the left of this room." Delta informed.

The rain of bullets ended from the outside. Quickly, West grabbed Grant's Battle Rifle and shoved him outside. His dead body left no resistance and was soon lying in its own blood. There were a couple shots as the simulation stooges thought Grant was West Virginia.

"That bitch!" Rodgers seethed. West could tell that now he was extremely pissed off.

But not as pissed off as West was. Her grimy, bloody face boasted a grimace and squinted eyes filled with a wild vengeance. She cocked the Battle Rifle with her working hand.

"On your six!" Delta shouted.

West turned around just in time to see O'Donnell without his helmet on come out of the left doorway. Before he even realized what was happening, West shot a couple rounds into his forehead, and even some in his eyes too for good measure. O'Donnell couldn't even let out a scream of pain as he fell down dead.

"_Stupid simulation stooge." _West thought._ "Never go into battle without a helmet on. Speaking of which . . ."_

Carefully, West took her taken Battle Rifle and set it on the holder on the back of the armor. With it secure, she grabbed the knife that she kept by her waist.

"Delta, form a hologram of myself in five seconds." West muttered.

"Understood." Delta said.

West counted to five, and Delta appeared as West in Carolina's armor. He also looked as crazed as West. Blood covered, a gun in the left hand, and the right hand hung as useless as a dead, rotting fish.

"Sync!" West Virginia shouted.

And as soon as she said it, West did a barrel roll to the other side of the room. And at the same time, Delta ran outside, gun held crookedly but affectedly. The simulation soldiers fell for the bait and fired at Delta instead of noticing West Virginia. The bullets just passed through the hologram, not effecting Delta at all.

"What the hell?" The medic exclaimed. He started to take a couple steps backwards as he was running low on shells.

Just as he said it, West pin pointed his location and swung around the entrance. As fast as she could, West flung the knife towards the medic. She didn't take the time to see if it hit her mark, because she entered the room again as Rodgers fired some shells. However, she did quickly see Delta disappear from his holographic form.

"Marty!" Rodgers lamented as he saw his last colleague fall to the ground.

"Oh, this is just bullshit!" The medic muttered with his terminal breath; the knife stuck perfectly where his heart was. "Get that bitch for me Rodgers . . ."

"I won't do it for you, pal. I'd do it for me." Rodgers fumed. He then raised his volume for West to hear clearly. "It's just you and me now, bitch. You wanted some? Well, come and get some!"

An invitation, just how West liked it.

West took her Battle Rifle off of her back and cocked it. The sound rang in her ears like a train whistle. No matter how she didn't like it, no matter how much pain she went through, this was what West trained for— lived for. West lived to kill.

She quickly wiped some of Grant's blood off of her forehead. Determination and raw instinct over took West as she again turned around the base's entrance.

The air was filled with flying bullets. Both soldiers let out an animal scream. West expertly dodged bullets as she jumped over boxes with an occasional tuck and roll through the empty space. West was gaining ground as the simulation stooge subconsciously walked backwards. Only some bullets met their mark, but they were so badly placed that it didn't impede West's progress.

Both guns were firing without end. It was as if time had slowed down itself. West watched with malevolent interest as bullet holes formed on Rodgers. Each hit sent him flying back and off balance. It was then that West Virginia got the upper hand. With less mercy than before, which there was none, West kept her finger tight on the trigger. This let an endless stream of bullets out of the Battle Rifle.

If felt like minutes, but it only was seconds until Rodgers fell to the ground, dying. With his Assault Rifle out of his reach, he stayed where he was on the ground, moaning. West casually walked up to him and kicked his gun further away.

With his last bit of strength, Rodgers took off his helmet to get one last look at his attacker. What stared at West was a face that didn't look any older than sixteen.

West's heart dropped. He was practically a child. Sixteen was at such an early age to die, let alone join the army. In that way, Rodgers reminded West of herself. But she never felt sorry for him; no one ever felt sorry for her. Except her friends, and for all that she knew, he could have been the one who killed New Mexico, Kans, or Deli.

In one last act of defiance, Rodgers mustered up enough strength to spit on West's closest foot. West didn't like that, not one bit. She raised her weapon so it aligned with this head. His lips were now covered with a dripping, dark liquid.

"Who's your babe, now?" West said, her head tilted and right eye temporarily blinded. To Rodgers, she looked like a deranged zombie, waiting to dine on his flesh.

And with that, West shot one last round. Rodgers' uneasy breathing stopped and the world was silent once more. West put her taken Battle Rifle on her back again and picked up her helmet that was by her feet. She put it under one of her arms and headed into the Blue Base. But not before taking in a deep breath of fresh air that had a metallic tint.

West had literally taken four soldiers out single handedly. A fact that she greatly took pride in.

"I think we can locate this Caboose without a problem now, can't we Delta?" West Virginia cheerfully said. The fight had somehow put her into a good mood, and she was now smiling like the little creep she was.

"That is correct. However, I advise that you rest until you are of better health. Then we can proceed with our plan without further setbacks." Delta said in a concerned tone.

West let out a maniac like laugh. Her head rolled around as if it was just partially attached to her neck. Her eyes were off center, showing that West was now completely isolated from reality. Delta secretly wished that this, like her paralyzed arm, was only temporary.

"Delta, I will not rest until the deaths of my friends are avenged. Not now that I know there's someone to blame other than my Father. Even if that means going as far as killing Caboose, and all of his friends, family, and colleagues. Now get in that fucking computer and find that God damn soldier!"


	8. Concepts and Conundrums

_Meanwhile, back at Valhalla . . ._

Simmons and Grif were back at doing the usual at Blue Base. And their usual was nothing. Simmons was supposed to be standing watch, but since he had been doing that for weeks on end, he was starting to let his guard down. He was beginning to lean against Blue base's walls like Grif was doing. He kept his eyes up on the sky, watching a couple of stray clouds swirl around the never setting sun. These were the first puffy clouds that he's seen since the last battle with the Meta, except they weren't dark storm clouds that never broke.

The river next to them was very quiet, except for the occasional ripple of water. The alien fish seemed to agree with Simmons and Grif, and they tried to soak in as much of the sun as possible. The fish were in a trance as they didn't move from their position. It was a strange sight. Relaxing, but strange nonetheless.

A slight breeze pushed through Simmons. It would have felt cool to Simmons if he wasn't wearing all of his armor at the time being. It was the perfect breeze too, just soft enough for someone to enjoy the sun's rays without burning up like a piece of bacon left on the frying pan for far too long.

It was almost silent. At the time being, no bird songs were given off. Simmons didn't know why. He didn't even question it. If he did, he would have given into the sheer beauty of the day.

Simmons had never been so peaceful in years.

Grif, however, had been this peaceful multiple times in years. In reality, it was more than multiple times, more like most of the time. He was still dozing off at his post, and his head was becoming heavier for him to hold up. Simmons had recently given up on kicking Grif awake, and for that, Grif was extremely thankful. Currently, Grif was dreaming about being back in Hawaii with his sister, Kaikaina.

They were on a beach by Honolulu. It was almost normal, except the beach wasn't as crowded as it usually was. But he didn't question it; he just enjoyed playing in the sun with Kaikaina. They were throwing a Frisbee, which was the most energetic thing he did back then. They were laughing, they were fooling around, but most importantly, they were eating. Grif missed his favorite Hawaiian food, and couldn't wait until he could get some when he would ship back home.

Grif found his Ukulele on the sandy beach and started to play an unknown song for his sister, Kaikaina. She enjoyed it very much and paid most of her attention to the chords and rhythms. That is, until she started sucking tongue with an unknown boyfriend.

Grif ended up smashing the Ukulele on the poor boy's head for that.

Grif missed his sister immensely and hoped that Lopez wasn't serious about killing her. He was starting to believe Lopez, though, and he regretted that. Sister was like a rash to him: apart of your body that once you thought you were rid of it, it would come back and make your life a living hell once again.

But their tranquil worlds were shattered as the sound of a car's engine came roaring to life right next to them. Both literally jumped a foot off of the ground, and Grif was lying down on the job, and came to attention. Simmons saluted while looking for his superior officer and Grif just crossed his arms in annoyance and let out a long string of cuss words.

Sarge, the commanding officer of the Red team, was sitting in the driver's seat of the newly fixed Chupathingy, their Warthog. He had his shotgun in the passenger seat, along with his helmet. Sarge had always treated his shotgun as if it was a person, or an extension of his body. So his trusty shotgun always deserved its own designative seat in the Chupathingy.

He gave both of his still living soldiers a deadly glare before he jumped out of the Chupathingy. A large, red bump on Sarge's head was slightly visible. Simmons studied this very briefly, but soon paid attention on Sarge's rising voice.

"Listen up!" Sarge ordered, even though both Simmons and Grif already were giving him their attention, "It seems that those dirty Blues had started up their old trick again. Those scheming scoundrels! They seem to have changed bases with us. And without us noticing it, too!"

"But Sarge, this was a joint agreement with the Blues. We aren't fighting anymore." Grif pointed out between big yawns that didn't seem to end.

"Nonsense! I don't know one Red that would make an agreement with a Blue unless it dealt with surrendering!" Sarge exclaimed. His fuzzy, grey eyebrows highlighting his facial expressions of shock and contradiction. Sarge continued to grumble as Simmons spoke.

"But Sir, we've made loads of deals with the Blues for years. Even before we were battling the Meta with Agent Washington" Simmons explained. "Though we've been more corporative with the Blues since our battle with both Freelancers."

"What! Where's the Meta! And I thought we were trying to get away from Washington." Sarge said, aghast at Simmons' words.

Quickly, Sarge scoped their perimeter out while using the Chupathingy as cover. He pulled up his armor covered hands to keep the sun out of his eyes just like a kid would do to make binoculars. It was amusing to watch, and Grif let out a small snicker. Simmons gave him a quick nudge to shut him up.

"Did we fall right into their trap to bring us back here in Valhalla?" Sarge continued, sounding crazier than ever before.

Grif and Simmons just stared at each other for a long minute as they tried to fight down Grif's chuckles. They questioned Sarge's sanity very briefly, but then they remembered that Sarge was not really connected to reality at all times. It had just been so long since his last period of insanity.

What had caused Sarge to go into another period of insanity? Simmons was the first to speak.

"What was the last thing you remember, Sir?" Simmons asked, a reason already formulating in his mind.

"Well, I remember that the floating ball person let that Tex girl out. And we got our asses kicked. We were just about to put the Blues into that F.I.L.S.S. computer thingy. I faintly remember Grif dying though, and you turning into a motorcycle." Sarge said, reminiscing, "And then, after that, I remember just being here and fixing the Chupathingy."

Grif and Simmons stared at each other, again, at a loss for words. What could have caused Sarge to instantly gain Amnesia for the last couple weeks, making him forget the battle with the Meta, Church disappearing in search for Tex, and Washington joining the Blues? And the fact that they were just simulation soldiers for Project Freelancer?

Both knew the answer after that last thought. It was a good explanation, but it was also wrong, as they hadn't known about the accident that Caboose had caused earlier.

"Denial." Grif and Simmons said at the same time.

"What? Whose denying?" Sarge asked, utterly confused. "Are you telling me that those dirty Blues are denying the use of our base and our holographic workshop? Would they be using our holographic workshop to try and build a mechanical bull that is a strong as a real one, but immune of a matadors stabbing, leaving us unprotected without Lopez to subdue the mechanical beast? Those are clever ones, they are . . ."

Silence.

"Uh, what was that about the matador and a bull again?" Grif asked.

"Never mind, you dumbass. You're too stupid to ever understand the tricks of those blues." Sarge muttered. "But I'll tell you, they're denying us our holographic workshop for their own needs!"

"No Sarge, you seem to be blocking out a piece of information that you just fuckin' hate." Grif stated as he leaned against the rear side of the Chupathingy.

"Huh?"

"What Grif means," Simmons took over, "is that a couple weeks ago, just after the last things you can remember, both Red and Blue teams learned that the war that we were fighting in was a lie."

"That sounds like nonsense." Sarge grumbled as Simmons sucked in a breath.

"Anyways," Simmons began again, "It seems that you believed for a long time that Red Army was a real thing, like we all did. But you more than others, and you took the truth harder than the rest of us. And such, you repressed recent memories so you can still believe the Red vs. Blue wars are existent. The truth is, Sarge, that Red army doesn't exist. That we're just a bunch of Simulation Soldiers. Simulation Soldiers with the sole purpose to best a test for Freelancers like Tex and Washington."

It was quiet for a second. Sarge gave them really weird looks as he tried to stomach this all in. He turned around to pick his helmet and shotgun out of the Chupathingy. Sarge held his shotgun in one hand, and his helmet in the other. He looked a lot like the Statue of Liberty actually, but in a more demented, army focused state.

Sarge put his helmet on and turned to face his inferiors again. It was like the crazy fool that Sarge was known to be was hidden by the helmet. Any other soldier would have guessed that he was a good soldier and leader. However, Grif and Simmons knew otherwise.

"You're making that up." Sarge said as he cocked his trusty shotgun.

"Dude! How did I know that Sarge would crack under the pressure of truth?" Grif rhetorically asked.

Sarge raised his shotgun to Grif's face. Both Sarge and Simmons couldn't see it, but Grif just started to recently sweat like a pig over an open roast. Sarge has always threatened Grif's life, but Sarge's mental state was questionable at best at this moment, so Grif could actually be killed.

Grif managed a semi-believable laugh, "That was a joke, Sarge."

Sarge made an unintelligible grunt and lowered his shotgun. He jumped back into the Chupathingy and started the engine.

"You two seem to have been taken under the Blue's mind tricks! I would have expected that from Grif." Sarge said, shaking his head. "But never from you Simmons! I thought I put some cyborg parts in your system that made you immune to hypnotism. Guess I was wrong! Soon, you'll go all native on me and use me as your sacrifice to the Great Blue Gods! Which are really demons!"

Both Grif and Simmons shook their heads. Sarge's plans and explanations were always abnormal, at best. But after years of serving with Sarge as their sergeant, this one took the prize.

"I have to finish them off while I can to save you. But I fear it's too late for Grif . . ." Sarge muttered more to himself than to his awestruck inferiors.

"That's just fucked up!" Grif exclaimed. "You're fucked up!"

_Somewhere else in Valhalla . . ._

Tucker was sleeping on Red Base's couch. A pillow in one hand, and his sword, deactivated, in the other. A blanket with the Red Army's emblem on it was sprawled across his body. His chocolate colored feet were sticking out at weird angles; one was even off of the couch and rammed onto the floor. He was snoring loudly and obnoxiously.

Caboose was on the floor next to couch, bent over the only book he could read. The book was his Blue Army Manual that he received his first year at Blood Gulch. All of its pages were illustrated and Caboose was currently studying how to use a Rocket Launcher. His eyes were practically glued to the page. But don't say that to Caboose, because he could very well do that if mentioned.

Through Tucker's snores, his lips formed almost silent words in his sleep. "Bow . . . Chicka, Bow . . . Wow . . ."

_Back outside of Blue Base . . ._

"I agree with Grif, Sir, that was just total nonsense." Simmons said. "We aren't under any of the Blues spells. If there were any spells, they are under ours."

Grif was confused and roughly nudged Simmons in the ribs. Grif put his head closer to Simmons so he could hear his words clearly.

"What the fuck, Simmons?" Grif muttered soft enough so Sarge couldn't hear them.

"Hey, Sarge won't accept the truth. So I had to make something up that he would accept." Simmons whispered back. "Just be glad I didn't tell him to attack the Blues. What kind of explanation could we tell them? 'Oh, sorry Sarge attacked you guys. He completely forgot that we weren't fighting a war and wanted to kill you all. So don't kill him because of that.' They utterly aren't going to believe that."

Sarge hadn't been paying attention to their little conversation and was stroking his shotgun until it glistened in the sun. It was such a pretty sight. Onyx black against the . . . whatever colors the sun was. Sarge didn't really know if the sun's rays could be classified as a color. But if it could, he would be sure that it would be in the red category of the color range.

However, that lost its appeal very quickly and Sarge snapped the two soldiers back to attention by firing a single shot from his gun. What a wonderful sound. It was the kind of sound that silenced everything with its own; demanding attention.

"Well now that your nonsense is over with," Sarge ended that part of their conversation. His voice got very quiet, as if he was a small kid who was about to tell his friends a big secret. "I have a plan to attack the Blues. It's foolproof!"

"What is it, Sir?" Simmons asked, acting genuinely intrigued. It didn't matter to Simmons if his superior was completely mental. Just as long as he could give Sarge compliments, it made him feel a bit better about his problems with his father. And then, quietly, as Simmons thought about his father, he muttered "Stupid Dad, you never take any of my compliments."

"At the meeting tonight, only Simmons and I will attend." Sarge began, not hearing Simmons grumble about his Father.

"We are the only ones who attend!" Simmons cried out. "Grif never goes! He just lies down on his ass all day long! That's all that he ever does!"

"And how do you even remember that part of these weeks?" Grif questioned, slightly tilting his head to the side like a dog when they get confused.

Sarge ignored him and continued to tell them his plan. "While we're at the meeting, Grif will douse himself with Kerosene and light himself on fire. The blues will be so surprised at Grif's suicidal intentions that they'll be distracted enough for Simmons and I to attack them from behind. I know we will lose a man in the process, but it will be worth it."

"Excellent plan, sir. Quite inspirational!" Simmons kiss-assed.

"Thank you, Simmons!" Sarge said, visibly smiling even with his helmet on. "I just came upon it while trying to figure out ways to kill Grif. I'm really proud of it myself."

"What? No that's a terrible idea!" Grif panicked and he stepped on the other side of the Chupathingy. He hid behind the car, only a bit of his orange helmet and visor showing, "You can't make me! I won't do it! You're a loon! A crazy, narrow-minded, red loving loon!"

"You'll do it, and you'll like it!" Sarge ordered.

And with that, Sarge drove the Chupathingy around Blue Base. He started to take Grif with him, as Grif's hand became wedged between the car's seat and the side of the Chupathingy. His feet left drag marks that were a few inches deep. Finally, Grif was able free his hand and the Sarge drove off without further adieu. However, like Newton's Laws states that an object in motion tends to stay in motion, Grif fell into the ground at the Chupathingy's speed.

As Grif picked up his head, Simmons could see a couple layers of dirt coating Grif's visor. And although he was the serious one in the Red Team, Simmons couldn't help laughing his head off.

"Oh, ha ha, very funny." Grif muttered as he brushed the dirt off of his armor. He faced the sky, his arms stretched out. "Why am I punished like this? Couldn't I be punished by having to be locked up in my house for the rest of my life? And what did I even do to earn this punishment?"

"Shut up," Simmons told Grif after he stopped laughing, "no one's listening to you."

"Well, you are." Grif pointed out.

"Yeah, I'm sort of forced to." Simmons snorted.

"And why did you agree to do Sarge's plan? I thought you just said you were against fighting the Blues and killing people without need?" Grif accused.

"No, I said that I didn't want Sarge to kill one of the Blues, making the rest of them mad and trying to kill all of us." Simmons clarified.

"Those don't seem like good options." Grif muttered. "Either way, I'll get killed."

"Yeah, but I've accepted your death a long, long time ago." Simmons comforted Grif, but it didn't cheer him up at all.

Grif walked away from his post, leaving his Battle Rifle there unattended. He headed into Blue Base and instantly made his way to their royal blue fabricated couch. He practically dove into it with as much grace as an Emu. Grif moaned in pleasure; this couch was so much comfier than the Red Base's one. Grif inhaled into one of the pillows and felt his body relax.

"You don't know how much I'd like to be back at our base and sleeping in my room." Grif muttered to no one in particular.


	9. Plans and Precautions

"Caboose! Keep that door closed! It stinks in there!" Tucker yelled as he jumped off of Red Base's couch. He ran over to Grif's door, where Caboose's curiosity had unleashed a wave of atrocious smells. Before the visible stink cloud could leave containment, Tucker slammed the door closed again. "Jesus! Were you trying to kill us?"

Caboose remained silent as he exchanged glances from Tucker's glare, to Grif's door, and then to the kitchen's fridge. The fridge seemed like the most logical place to look in this kind of situation. Well, to Caboose it seemed so. He scratched his head as his thinker-box worked hard.

". . . Maybe?" Caboose finally chose as his answer as he clutched Church's blanket tighter. He didn't want to say yes or no, because he didn't know which one would get him less yelled at. So, in the end, he went with the middle answer.

Tucker sighed and headed to open Red Base's main door so he could let out any of the stench that snuck past them. Tucker was starting to get really annoyed by Caboose. At least Caboose had annoyed the hell out of Church when he was still around, instead of him. But now that Church was gone, Caboose had more free time with Tucker.

All in all, Tucker was surprised that he wasn't a ghost yet. But then he remembered that Church was an AI, and Tucker seriously doubted that he was a calculator. So if he was actually killed, he would probably remain dead. And that would just suck.

As Tucker opened Red Base's door, a body shot through the open entrance. It was Wash that walked in, and on the way had pushed Tucker out of the way. Tucker watched Washington storm through the hallway, tracking dirt with him. Doc closely followed Wash like a faithful puppy.

"Excuse me!" Tucker yelled at Wash as he disappeared into the kitchen. Tucker turned around and faced outside, rolling his chocolate colored eyes at nothing in particular. "Man, why couldn't Washington be a Chic? A nice, hot, easy Chic?"

Tucker followed the two smuggled soldiers into the kitchen. Washington had already somehow gotten half of his armor off; only the waist down was still had the over armor on. He was currently raiding the fridge for any leftovers. He found an old bowl of bean soup and he tossed it into the microwave. All the time, Washington was frowning and hadn't let out one slip of emotion other than his usual frown.

Man, that guy never looked happy around them.

Doc however, with only his helmet off, looked very troubled. As he had been like last night. In fact, Doc had been off ever since he and Wash came back with a pair of Sheila's wheels yesterday afternoon. He was a wreck, trembling for no apparent reason.

During last night's dinner even, he couldn't hold his fork still enough to stab his vegetarian foods. Each time he moved to pierce the broccoli, he would miss and scratch against the old plates. It made such a racket that Tucker and Caboose spent most of their dinner watching Doc helplessly wield his fork. Wash had ignored it and pessimistically at his pork chops, but it was funny for the other two at the time.

But it became ridiculous when it was time for bed and Doc decided to stay up in the Rec. Room all night. His excuse was that he wasn't asleep. And that was a pile of bullshit since Doc had always stressed the importance of a good night's sleep every night. Doc had never gone to bed later than eight-thirty every single night that he had spent with Blue Team.

Wash had glared at Doc last night, but didn't say anything as he headed to his temporary room. But all night long, whenever there was just the faintest sound, or bump in the night, Doc had let out a girly squeal. Every single time, it would wake Tucker up. And it pissed Tucker off.

Doc showed many signs of not being himself at the time being too. Doc didn't scold Wash from wiping his feet off when he came back and not being polite to Tucker for Wash's behavior. Doc didn't even fix his glasses that were hanging off his nose, crooked.

That wasn't normal for a perfectionist like Doc.

"Okay, will someone tell me what the hell is wrong?" Tucker demanded.

"Well, I opened a door. And then you yelled at me." Caboose said from behind Tucker. And then he muttered, "you big meanie."

Tucker jumped at the sound of Caboose's voice. Tucker was leaning against the kitchen's back wall, and the kitchen's door was on the opposite side of the room. There was no way Caboose could have gotten behind him without being noticed.

"What? How the fuck did you do that, Caboose?" Tucker asked.

"Did what?" Caboose scratched his head again. His eyes furrowed together as he thought hard.

"Never mind Caboose." Tucker dismissed the idiot and turned back to face Wash and Doc. They were on their way out of the kitchen, as if to ignore Tucker's questions. "Hey, wait for a fuckin' minute."

Both froze and turned to face Tucker. His chocolate face was not the usual laid back expression it usually was. It now was painted as serious as a heart attack. His right hand was just barely touching his sword, as if he was threatening them. He pushed some of his short dreadlocks away from his eyes with his open hand. Doc trembled and made a strange noise while Wash kept his frown.

"What the hell is wrong with you two? Both of you have been acting strange since you came back from Sheila." Tucker stated. "What the hell happened out there?"

Doc looked at Wash, as if knowing he should be the one to speak. Wash glared at Doc, and then switched to Tucker and Caboose. Caboose, however, was fascinated with the kitchen's light and didn't pay attention to what was happening in the kitchen.

Wash sighed, "Nothing important. It can wait until the meeting tonight."

"Nu-uh, I'm not falling for that. If it has Doc trembling like a school girl, I should know what is going on." Tucker argued, "You know, since I'm the highest ranking official here."

"Well technically I'm Medical Super Private First Class! So I don't have to tell you. And Wash is a Freelancer." Doc pointed out, sounding more confident than he felt.

"Technically, you two aren't supposed to be here. I can call Command and they can take you two to jail for deserting the army." Tucker responded to.

"And technically this isn't even a real army, so it doesn't matter who's in charge. Besides, none of us had heard from Command since we came back from Sidewinder." Wash contributed, "It's like Command just vanished, so you have no leverage."

"So how about I tell Caboose that you're the reason Church is permanently gone?" Tucker threatened.

It was silent as the three intelligent soldiers stared at the simulation moron. He hadn't heard them and was still staring at the light bulb. Caboose's blue eyes had gotten huge and hadn't moved since Tucker yelled at him. They were glistening with the light from the light bulb.

"Ah!" Caboose finally screamed in pain, and he broke his concentration. He rubbed his eye sockets with his open pale hand. "My eyes can't see things! I think . . . that they were stolen!"

The three soldiers then watched Caboose run out of the kitchen with Church's blue blanket and towards his temporary room in Red Base. Man, that kid was like Linus with his blanket. Along the way, he ran into the Kitchen's doorway and knocked over some furniture. It was quite a commotion.

"And trust me, when Caboose gets mad, you don't want to be on the receiving end." Tucker finished.

Doc and Wash exchanged glances. Wash sighed and opened the microwave door to retrieve his bean soup. He sat at the small table and drank the soup with greedy gulps. Doc, Wash's ever faithful human collie, joined him and motioned for Tucker to sit down too.

Tucker sat opposite of Doc and Wash and suspiciously eyed them. He sat his deactivated sword down on the table for an easy reach. It was silent in the kitchen as the three tried to see who would speak first. However, it wasn't quiet outside of the kitchen, as Caboose was still screaming that he couldn't see.

"How will I know where I am going? Or where I've been? Does this mean that I won't remember what Momma looks like? Am I going to forget what I look like?" Caboose screamed from the other side of the base. "Oh . . . my . . . god! Am I going to forget everything? Am I going to forget that I exist?"

The three tried their best to ignore the child like screams of pointless agony. But they had little to no success.

"Remember when I told you my job in Project Freelancer was to retrieve AI and hopefully their injured Freelancers?" Wash started, blocking out Caboose.

"Yeah?" Tucker raised his eyebrows. "What about it?"

"Well, to do that, I was given a recovery beacon that signaled when either an AI unit or a Freelancer was in trouble. It would give me coordinates and details after a couple seconds it was sent to me."

"And let me guess . . ." Tucker sarcastically said as he waved his hands around.

" . . . One was sent to me yesterday on our way back from Sheila. It was extremely short and almost no details had made it over the time period." Wash described. "But from what little information I did receive, I could tell that there still is at least one Freelancer still out there."

"Oh no! I don't exist anymore! How am I going to enjoy my orange juice?" Caboose gasped, and then he was barely audible. "How am I going to share my orange juice with Church?"

Caboose then broke into sobs, probably because of the slip of Church's name. None of the soldiers in the kitchen stood up to help Caboose. Tucker just continued in their conversation.

"And this is bad how?" Tucker finally decided to cut to the chase.

"It's bad because maybe that Freelancer didn't want to be found out. Maybe that Freelancer wanted to remain hidden from society." Wash said, pressing his hands down onto the table with tremendous force. "And maybe that Freelancer will track me down so no one will know that he, or she, is still alive."

"Someone may attack Wash and kill him since he knows this information. And this Freelancer may kill the rest of us for safety percussions." Doc finally added, his voice shaking.

"Or maybe a Freelancer was just killed and we're overreacting. Either way, we all need to be on our toes for a couple of weeks." Wash said, "Which was exactly what I was going to say at tonight's meeting."

Tucker was quiet as he thought this over. Another Freelancer met more trouble, because all Freelancers ever cause is trouble. And pain. And death. And a lot of fighting. And pain. And problems. And more pain. Actually, Freelancers only ever caused Tucker and the rest of the simulation soldiers' misery. And a lot of pain.

Tucker didn't know if he could take another Freelancer.

"Man, this is bad news." Tucker muttered as he bent over and rubbed his temples. "So you're telling me that a Freelancer maybe on their way to kill all of us?"

"First, my second bestest friend dies. And then I can't miss my bestest friend!" Caboose sobbed somewhere else in Red Base. "I hate this vacation!"

"Tucker, for all that we know, one maybe here right now." Doc whispered as he finally fixed his crooked glasses.

* * *

It had been a hard task for West to drive a Mongoose through the winding trails. Most of her effort was trying to turn the handlebar so the Mongoose could turn right. Each shove and pull had caused a wave of pain through her left side. Sometimes, West had let out a whimper of pain. Something that West wouldn't stand for.

She stopped halfway towards the valley named Valhalla because of the pain. She looked down towards her left side to see what had been causing the pain.

"Oh god!" West muttered as she saw small streaks of red escaping from her blue armor. "That Simulation Stooge must have actually gotten me."

Delta had noticed this wound before, and had actually mentioned this to West. But of course, West had ended up either ignoring the AI unit's observations or had just forgotten his existence during her driving exercise. Delta had given up reasoning with West since they left the mountain base, at least until she was of better health.

Quickly, West tried her hardest to pull some of the armor off. But it was impossible with only one arm working. West swore silently to herself before grunting mindlessly, trying to tear her stolen armor apart with blind strength. And then, in a somewhat comedic manner, West fell off of her stolen Mongoose and onto the muddy ground.

"Delta? Can you do anything to help?" West said as she floundered on the ground, trying to grab onto the Mongoose to stand up.

"Of course, I could automatically begin the armor's pressure generator. That will halt the bleeding in that area of your body for four hours and twenty seven minutes." Delta said.

"Do it now!" West ordered as she watched her blood trickle out.

Delta obeyed. Soon, the amount of blood that was escaping West was dramatically dropping until there was barely a drop of wet blood. West sat against the Mongoose and just took deep breaths in. The idea of actually getting shot by a Simulation Stooge haunted her. She was weaker than she had used to be.

West was never the best Freelancer. Infact, she never had come close to the Top Freelancer boards. When Wash was number six, West had been fuming about it for a longer amount of time that was acceptable. However, West wasn't a bad Freelancer either. Even, before her supposed "death", West has unofficially the seventeenth best Freelancer and had remained that for a long period of time.

She had always thought that she was too good to get shot by a Simulation Stooge.

West groaned as she forced herself to get back on the Mongoose. Now that her bleeding had been stopped for a couple hours, maybe she could drive with less difficulty?

West floored it, and the Mongoose took off once again. West was right; it was less straining to drive now that she had stopped bleeding to death. Her mind wandered as she continued to move towards Valhalla.

West's thoughts were wrapped around the idea that she now had a time limit to find this Caboose. Less than five hours was enough time to retrieve the information, but not comfortably. There was a lot of risk involved, but West's mind was hazy about those details. West just aimed for the goal, not the effects it would cause.

And then, after a couple ten minutes of driving with one hand, West had reached the side of the valley. She turned the Mongoose off and dismounted it, as if it was a steed. West walked closer to the edge and took in the valley.

This was a standard Simulation setup. Two main bases for each Simulation team. Well constructed for good evasive maneuvers and other crap. From the distance that West was out, she could faintly see small blobs moving around. The soldiers West assumed. But what really caught her eye was the waterfall. West hadn't seen a Waterfall since her last illicit visit to Earth, and that waterfall didn't compare to this one.

"This is Valhalla?" West asked as she overlooked the valley from a ledge. She sniffed the air, as if to catch the mist from the Waterfall with her nose. "Too sunny for my taste."

"From the information I got on the computer at the last base, before you detonated the makeshift bomb, Caboose is a Blue simulation soldier stationed at the far end of the valley, by the waterfall. From his files, many of his team mates say he has a tendency to hamper progress and even go against orders." Delta said.

West turned around and walked back to her new Mongoose. It was in almost perfect condition; the only flaw was the radio that was taken out so it couldn't be tracked. She climbed back onto it and drove it into a little cave that was surrounded by trees.

"So you're telling me that Caboose has a tendency to be a nuisance rather than a helper." West simplified for her traumatic brain.

"In a way, that is correct." Delta said. "Although, I must advise you that if you continue in this course of action, the chances of success are diminished to thirty seven percent. The chances of your survival is less than twelve percent, including after you implant me into Caboose and withdrawal."

West snorted, "I survived the last fight, didn't I?"

"Yes. But that was miraculous. I calculated that chance of survival was fifty three percent in the last firefight. There are more Simulation Soldiers here, so the figures here have considerably changed." Delta argued. "Please, for your own safety, I recommend that we wait until you are of better health."

"Delta, revert twenty percent of power from the standard healing unit into my enhancement." West ordered, ignoring Delta's last plea.

"Finished, sensitivity enhancement is currently at twenty percent power. No damage to the Sensitivity enhancement from yesterday's firefight had been taken." Delta added the last part before West could ask. His voice faltered for a second and West panicked.

"Delta, you may be alive. But you're not in perfect condition. I order you to go offline during this. I'll wake you when I need you." West ordered, sounding a bit like a hypocrite. "You need time to rest."

"I can say the same with you . . ." Delta whispered as he shut himself off. Delta hoped for the best, but his logic told him to expect the worst.

West was now alone again. But she didn't mind right now. Ever since that accident from yesterday, she hadn't been thinking as clear as before. Now that there was only one voice in her mind, she could concentrate on her work. She took one last overview of Valhalla.

West Virginia stood there in the sunlight, covered in dry blood and her head tilting to the right. Her right arm still wasn't working and she regretted the fact that she would be going into battle again without it. A Battle Rifle was safely secure on her back, an SMG in her working hand. West's belt on her waist contained her now red tinted knife, along with a couple grenades or two. Those grenades were now painted with her own blood that had just escaped just over ten minutes ago.

She was ready for this. She was ready to avenge her friend's deaths. She took in a deep, broken breath and started her way down into the valley of Valhalla. Her footsteps was quick but careful, however, that came to an end as she reached the bottom.

From the timer clock that Delta had so graciously made for West before she shut him off, West only had a little more than four hours left before she would continue to bleed to death.

"Let's do this." West muttered to herself in her demented state.


	10. New Directive

**Mountain Highway**

**73 kilometers South, South West of Command**

**Time—22:13:05**

Two operatives in white armor drove at high speeds down the dirt road. No one ever drove down these kinds of roads anymore. They had been abandoned a long time ago, along with the soldiers that had once used this road. Most soldiers were still there, forgotten when the Project had been shut down. In the eyes of the superiors, they weren't needed or wanted.

The two operatives in white armor completely agreed. But they only agreed because they were told to agree.

They were driving a brand new Warthog that had just gotten shipped off of the line. It was sleek compared to the rugged, fractured rocks that the Simulation Soldiers had called Mountains. To anyone else who was riding the Warthog, it would have been called the sweetest joy ride in the history of joy rides. But to the operatives, it was just a transportation unit to get from point A to point B.

The operatives didn't even talk to each other. It was an awkward silence, but neither of the operatives had noticed it. Their whole attention was on their given order from Command. It was a simple mission that they had run before.

Just observe, collect and transmit data to Command and then apprehend the rogue or invalid agent. Killing was optional in this case, but the Director had specified that he wanted this rogue agent brought in alive for interrogation.

This was a priority mission. One of their first priority missions since the last period of activity. And only the best of Command's operatives were granted permission for the assignment.

This meant that Operative 12-4b would naturally be on the case, as he had been in the program for as long as it had been running. He had the most knowledge with the new technology and weaponry out of all the other Operatives. Operative 12-4b had been the most prepared because of that, mentally and physically.

Operative 12-4b's partner in this assignment was the fairly experienced Operative 31-6c, who had been in the battle field longer than most other Operatives at Command. She was, however not used to working with Standard Issue Soldiers like Operative 12-4b was. This experience was for her to also learn how Standard Issue Soldiers and Simulation Soldiers worked and fought together.

They've worked before, so the Director knew that this assignment would go as well planned as he thought it would be.

They approached their destination in minutes. Or, what was left of their destination. The remains of Simulation Blue Base of the Southern Mountain Range were charred completely black. The second floor had caved into the first, leaving the remains without a ceiling. One of the walls had collapsed, leaving a pile of rubble in its wake. The windows had blown out; their glass thrown across the road and surrounding mountain paths.

It looked like the perfect textbook picture for Hiroshima's atomic bombing.

"Arrived at targeted destination." Operative 31-6c spoke into her radio. Command was recording their progress via audio link, so both Operatives were forced to say their observations. If they didn't have to repeat every observation out loud, both Operatives would have chosen to remain silent during their work. "Coordinates match the sight of seismic triangulation."

"First glance suggests an explosion had decimated Simulation Blue Base. Scanning for life now . . . no visible signs of survivors." Operative 12-4b stated into the helmet's radio.

Operative 12-4b jumped out of the Warthog and headed into Simulation Blue Base. Operative 31-6c also exited the vehicle, but had followed her directive to observe the after effect of the explosion. From what her databanks showed, nothing was out of the ordinary inside the perimeter of destruction.

"Residue and remains of Simulation Blue Base indicate that a bomb consisting of C-4 had been detonated in large quantities." Operative 31-6c stated. "No signs of wild life in the vicinity of the explosion. Plant life has also been eradicated."

While Operative 31-6c was observing outside of the remains, Operative 12-4b had been searching inside. The charred residue inside the base was made it too dark to see for him. Operative 12-4b turned on his built in flashlight and searched for something in particular. But even with the light on, it was difficult to make out objects inside the remnants of Blue Base. It seemed impossible for Operative 12-4b to find what his directive told him to.

Operative 12-4b found it when he accidentally stepped on a scalded hand. Operative 12-4b didn't jump from surprise as anyone else would have if they stepped on a dead person's burnt hand. Rather, Operative 12-4b just picked up his foot and scrapped the flaking skin off of his boot. To him, it was just like noticing that you stepped into a smelly pile of dog crap.

Of course, for Operative 12-4b and the rest of the Operatives, other soldiers were equal to piles of dog crap.

"One corpse found in the collapsed Simulation Blue Base. Specifically, location is where the storage room was. From first glance, the victim is a male of six feet in height. Running scan on the body as of now." Operative 12-4b said as he bent down to get a closer look at the body's details and flaws.

And so, the two Operatives in white armor continued in their work, ignoring each other until the other was needed. However, that would not be the case during this assignment.

"Scans indicate that the body belonged to a Private First Class Patrick O'Donnell of the Blue Team. The Simulation Soldier had kidney and liver problems, but not resulting in his death. Subject was repeatedly shot in the head with a standard issue Battle Rifle." Operative 12-4b said. "Time of death was roughly eighteen hours from now. Death was instantaneous."

Operative 12-4b left the body of Patrick O'Donnell in search of any other corpses. And there were more. Though, this time they were all roughly in the same spot.

"Three more deceased Simulation Blue Soldiers found in the remains of the observation deck. That of which has been collapsed into the first floor shower stalls." He said. "All as badly burnt as the first corpse. Though scan shows that that was not the cause of death."

Operative 12-4b examined the first body. He didn't try being careful with the remains of the soldier. The idea of respecting the dead never popped into his mind. In fact, Operative 12-4b never had respect for the living. It wasn't in his training to value the lives others, not even his fellow Operatives.

In the Archytas Program, it's every man for himself.

"Second corpse belongs to a Private Grant Brown. Medical files indicate that the Private suffered from severe post traumatic trauma during his military training years. Cause of death is multiple shots around his torso from Battle Rifles. Rounds specify that it was friendly fire. Death is around the same time as the other. Death was not instantaneous."

Operative 12-4b moved to the next body. Nothing out of the ordinary. "Victim was Private George Rodgers. Suffered from similar wounds to the chest. Fatal shots were fired into his forehead. Shots were of standard assassination techniques often used by experienced soldiers or executioners."

Finally, Operative 31-6c finished her scope of the surroundings. She headed inside to check on the remnants of Blue Base's computer. "Vehicle tracks were found outside the perimeter of the explosion. Files show that the tracks belong to a standard issue Mongoose that belonged to this base. Checking to see if files were accessed before time of explosion."

And so, Operative 31-6c miraculously turned on the base's computer. It hummed to life, and then started to choke on its own power. The computer was in bad shape, and it didn't seem like Operative 31-6c would get any viable information. However, as Operative 31-6c was a computer engineer, she could receive more information than others could acquire. If others had tried to do the same job that Operative 31-6c was doing, they would have failed horribly.

"At first glance, files on this computer had been hacked by an AI unit. Remains of the AI's trail indicate that it was a fragmented piece of a smart AI. From the AI's trail, the AI did not hack into the Simulation Blue Base's files. It seems that the AI intentionally hacked into Command's public files. Searching for what it had been looking for as I speak." Operative 31-6c said as she dug herself into the computer.

And so, the two Archytas Operatives slaved away at their different directives. Operative 12-4b continued to observe the bodies while Operative 31-6c searched for the leaked files. However, they stopped when they heard the sound of an approaching vehicle. The two operatives looked at each other for the first time this assignment. They nodded their heads, and Operative 31-6c stepped away from the computer to inspect what was happening outside.

She stepped out of the remains of Simulation Blue Base to see that a Warthog had arrived. It was in a horrific shape, and if Operative 31-6c wasn't in the Archytas Program, she would have questioned why it was still in use. However, her attention was focused on the new arrivals.

There were three soldiers that were exiting the Warthog. All were dressed in Simulation Red Armor. Two of them carried Magnums while the supposed leader was equipped with a Sniper Rifle. They were obviously surprised to see what had happened to their enemy's base.

"Simulation Red Soldiers had arrived unscheduled thirteen minutes after our appearance. Unknown if they have already been to the remains. Approaching Simulation Red Soldiers to see if they will withhold or provide any unknown information." Operative 31-6c said into her built in radio.

Operative 31-6c exited the security of Simulation Blue Base's remains and walked towards the Simulation Red Soldiers. It took the Simulation Red Soldiers a couple seconds for them to recognize her existence.

"Hey! Are you from Command?" The leader of the Red Team said.

"Correct. Are you Sergeant John Brown of Mountain Outpost 8A?" Operative 31-6c stated like a robot. She didn't move from where she stood, as if rooted into the ground like a tree.

"Yeah, that's me. Look, we don't want any trouble from no Freelancer." Sergeant John Brown asked as he tensed his arms around his Sniper Rifle. Sergeant John Brown had had some trouble with Freelancers before. The main Freelancer to give their asses kicked was a Mississippi. And they had agreed that Missy was not a suitable nickname for the man. "Are you one of those Freelancers that had passed by here before?"

"I will be the one to ask questions, Sergeant John Brown." Operative 31-6c said, ignoring the Freelancer comment.

"Shit." One of the Red Team privates muttered under his breath. "Sounds like one to me. I hate these guys."

"Well, fire away." Sergeant John Brown said, trying his best to ignore Operative 31-6c's inhuman like tone and movements.

"According to Command's files, both your team and Blue team had been stationed here in the mountains for several years. Is that correct?" Operative 31-6c stated it as a question.

"Yeah, the fuck it is." The other Red Private answered before his Sergeant could speak. He wasn't really paying attention to Operative 31-6c. He was more interested in the debris of Blue Base and the surrounding charred ground. His mouth lay open inside his helmet as he took in his surroundings.

"How do you state your relationship with the Blue Army?" Operative 31-6c asked, monotony.

"You got to be kidding me? Our relationship was that we wanted to kill each other. I'd say that's bad." Sergeant John Brown said, exasperated. He turned to look at his privates to see if they had also heard that question. Both of the privates just shook their shoulders. "What kind of question was that?"

"I will be the one to ask questions, Sergeant John Brown." Operative 31-6c said again. It was like her responses were just run straight off of a tape recorder.

The Simulation Red Soldiers noticed this and their stress levels raised up. It was all in Operative 31-6c's scans of them. They seemed to notice that she wasn't acting quite human like. Operative 31-6c observed this and muttered this in her radio, but other than that, didn't respond to the Simulation Red Soldiers.

"Do you have any recollection or knowledge of what had happened to Blue Base?" Operative 31-6c asked.

"Not really. We did feel a tremor of some sort last night when we were running our training operations." Sergeant John Brown said. "We had an injury, so all of our soldiers were in the base trying to fix our rookie instead of spying on the Blues."

"It felt really weak, like it was fifty miles away, not a mile." The first private who spoke said. "We also saw a pillar of smoke a couple minutes afterwards. But we only thought that Blue Team was having a bomb fire. You know, to make s'mores. They've always taunted us about that. We never get to make s'mores . . ."

The second private subtly hit the other private to make him shut up. Was it so he could stop ranting about delicious snacks, or to keep information away from Operative 31-6c? Operative 31-6c went with the latter option and delved into the subject more.

"What color was the smoke?" Operative 31-6c asked, more firmly than before with her other questions.

"Well," Sergeant John Brown started, as if he didn't want to tell the Operative. "It was a very thick looking cloud of smoke. Kind of a grayish white."

"Description matches the assumed explosion of C-4." Operative 31-6c stated into her radio for Command to hear.

"Who are you talking to?" Sergeant John Brown suspiciously asked her.

"That information is highly classified." Operative 31-6c stated faster than a person should be able to.

"If it's both of our Command, then we have the right to know!" One of the Simulation Red Privates shouted at the Operative like a little kid.

"That information is highly classified." Operative 31-6c stated fast again, but then she tacked on, "Sorry for the inconvenience."

Sergeant John Brown hesitated for a second before he could ask the question everyone there was thinking. He felt like a complete idiot for asking this, too.

"Are you some kind of robot or something?" Sergeant John Brown asked, dumbstruck.

"That information is highly classified. Sorry for the inconvenience."

The three Simulation Red Soldiers just looked at each other. What was going on? Why had someone attacked Blue Base other than themselves or Red Command? And why was this weird lady acting like a robot and asking them stupid questions?

Just then, Operative 12-4b appeared at the remains of Blue Base's doorway. He signaled Operative 31-6c via radio to bring the Simulation Red Soldiers inside to identify the remains. He had already done it, but better be safe and sorry and use the eyes of someone who recognized the corpses.

"Please, come inside and identify the bodies of Blue Team." Operative 31-6c stated before turning around and walking inside.

The three Simulation Red Soldiers hesitated before following the Operative. They readied their weapons, unsure if this was some kind of trick to murder them. For all that they knew, these could be rougue Freelancers that wanted to kill them all. They've heard rumors of some of that kind, and they had been lucky enough that Missy was killed off before he could bring the danger towards them.

But these guys could be just as bad as Missy. Probably worse, due to the fact that there were two of them. But there could be more in there too. To them, this pair of soldiers in white armor just reeked of bad omens.

"Is this the body of a Patrick O'Donnell?" Operative 12-4b asked as strangely as Operative 31-6c would have asked.

One of the Red Privates nodded his head and answered. "Yeah, that's the bastard that shot me in the back. I'm glad he went down this way. My only regret is that I didn't do it myself."

"There are two more bodies that we have identified. We would like you to verify our assumptions." Operative 12-4b said as he led them down into the shower stalls.

"Those two look like Rodgers and Grant, alright." Sergeant John Brown said, nodding his head. "They look delicious too, like T-bone steaks cut from the best butchers of Manhattan. Maybe too well done for my tastes, though."

His two privates made noises of disgust from the Sergeant's comments. However, the pair of Operatives didn't respond to his disturbing remark.

"And lastly, there is this body. But I did not find his records in Command's files." Operative 12-4b said, sounding like a computer.

"Oh yeah, that's the medic that was shipped in with them. He was supposed to be useful for both sides of the war, except he spent all his time and energy over here." The Sergeant said. "I forget what his name was, thought."

"It was Marty, sir." One of the Privates informed the Sergeant.

"Oh, thanks, whatever your name is." Sergeant John Brown said.

The Private that had informed the Sergeant just let out an irritated sigh.

"Thank you for your information. Please rest in the remains of the Rec. Room while I converse our next instructions with my companion." Operative 12-4b dismissed the Simulation Red Soldiers.

They grumbled and then headed into the collapsed part of the Rec. Room. Once they were out of the room, but not out of earshot, the two Operatives discussed their gathered information. It could best be described as a boring office meeting with old men who were half asleep.

"Knife wound to the medic called "Marty" is best associated to a custom made Marine knife o inch blade." Operative 12-4b informed. "This type of knife was mostly used by soldiers of the Freelancer Project."

"Most knifes were revoked when Project Freelancer fell four months, one week, and three days ago. This may indicate that a Freelancer is still alive and functioning under surveillance." Operative 31-6c concluded. "This may impede the progress of the Archytas Program. Something that is inexcusable."

"Continue trace of AI fragment in the computer while I search for anymore signs of a rouge Freelancer." Operative 12-4b gave his first instruction to his partner."

"Yes sir." Operative 31-6c obliged. She headed to the computer and continued to follow the hacked trail. "Files corrupted were a page of friendly fire kills by a Simulation Blue Soldier of the name Michael J. Caboose. Following link to Michael J. Caboose's records."

"No other signs of a Freelancer being here other than the AI fragment and the custom knife wound." Operative 12-4b stated as he searched the room and the surrounding areas. "Bomb was most likely intended for the purpose to end its trail."

"Found location of Simulation Soldier Michael J. Caboose. He is currently stationed at Blue Team Outpost Valhalla 17." Operative 31-6c stated. "Next course of action would be to travel to the Valhalla Valley and interrogate this soldier. The trail may lead us to him, and then probably the rouge Freelancer."

"Next directive would be to leave and continue our investigation." Both of the operatives stated as they headed out towards their Warthog.

But suddenly, their radio had turned on, signaling an incoming call. Both Operatives froze as Operative 12-4b answered the call.

"This is Operative 12-4b, answering the call from Command." Operative 12-4b introduced himself.

"This is the Director, Operative 12-4b and Operative 31-6c, with a new directive." The voice in the radio said. "Eighty-six the last directive of observation and investigation. Rather, invest in a complete forensic sweep in the remains of Simulation Blue Base. We need to find out which Freelancer may be still alive."

"And of the Simulation Red Soldiers?" Operative 31-6c asked.

". . . Eliminate them by any means." The Director said before closing the transmission.

The two Operatives gave a quick glance at each other's direction before loading their weapons of choice. With their weapons ready, they entered the remains of Blue Base's Rec. Room. The Simulation Red Soldiers hadn't heard the transmission, but had suspected that they were to be killed. The Simulation Red Soldiers were ready to fight.

But they weren't ready to survive.

The firefight lasted less than a minute. And those seconds were filled with bloodcurdling screams.


	11. Identity Crisis

West Virginia had been drudging through the Valley's foliage. Her side still ached from the bullet wounds, and she would occasionally suck in a sharp breath. Other than that, she was off balance, and that impeded her stealth ability. If West had the use of both arms, she would be able to climb over boulders and other obstacles that she now had to walk around.

It took forever.

Slowly, she noticed the alien rabbits departing from their burrows. This was a sign that it was technically night time, and she should sleep. But the sun never set, and West was too focused to rest. If anything, she was more determined to escape the alien rabbit's murderous gaze. She shuddered at the memory of them attacking her and a group of other Freelancers.

Poor, poor Oklahoma. He never took off his boots again since that day.

Slowly, West made her way out of the valley's small forest. Just within her sight was the Simulation Blue Base. She clutched the shadows of the Valley's sides. West didn't want to give away her position. Patiently, West observed the apparent Blue Simulation Stooges that were by one of the base's entrances.

For a second, West was confused. The coordinates that Delta gave her stated that in front of her was Blue Base. But the soldiers that she saw were in armor that was mostly red related. She came up with three possibilities.

One was that her eyesight had finally flipped out on her and she now saw colors reverted.

The second theory was that these simulation stooges were even more moronic than the last ones she encountered; they just picked the wrong colors for their team.

West's last theory was that Delta was wrong with his information. But Delta was never wrong.

Currently, there were two simulation soldiers stationed at the base's entrance. One in maroon that held his Battle Rifle at point. The other soldier in orange, who was unarmed and leaning against the base's wall. At one point, West saw the orange soldier started to argue with the maroon one.

"_A slack off?" _West guessed.

The sound of a car's engine became audible to West, and she quickly ducked behind a rock. With her working eye, she watched closely as a Warthog drove to the oddly colored Blue Simulation Stooges. A soldier in Standard Issue red armor jumped out.

"_Wait? Standard Issue red armor? What the hell was going on?_ _Only Simulation Red Army Soldiers wore that color armor." _West finally believed that she had lost it. Well . . . lost it further than before. She continued to watch, her brain trying to sort out the details.

The red soldier was saluted by the maroon. The red soldier also saluted, just before cocking an old shotgun. The orange simulation stooge, however, just blew off the apparent superior. The red soldier seemed not to like the orange's actions and raised his shotgun. This peaked West's interest naturally, and she strained her ears to hear their conversation. However, she could not hear a word, even with her Sensitivity enchantment activated.

To West's surprise, the orange soldier didn't seem threatened by his superior's actions. If anything, he was aroused. In a quick moment, the orange soldier knocked the shotgun out of his face. Soon, the orange and red soldier were visibly arguing, throwing hands in the air and stomping feet like little, annoying children.

The maroon soldier turned away, as if to block out what was happening. West watched him for a brief second. To her, he seemed the most capable soldier there. He wasn't Caboose. There was no chance of that.

However, there was a great possibility that either the orange or the red soldier was Caboose. At this point, it was anyone's guess.

West was about to change position to a closer boulder when the red soldier hopped back into the beaten Warthog. The red soldier motioned for the others to join. The maroon soldier seemed to happily comply and climbed onto the back where the mobile turret was stationed. Both soldiers in the warthog stared at the orange soldier, waiting for him to join them.

The orange soldier did not show any signs of moving from where he stood. He even crossed his arms like a spoiled toddler. The red soldier raised his shotgun to the orange soldier's face one more time. And just like last time, the shotgun was shoved away.

However, a shot gun shell was fired a couple feet to the orange soldier's right side, and then he jumped with surprise. The sound rang through West's ears and she instantly became pumped. Before he could actually get injured, he ran into the base. The orange soldier almost tripped on the way in, it was almost too comical, and West had to repress a faulty laugh.

The two remaining soldiers hesitated before driving off towards the direction of Red Base. As soon as the sound of the car's engine was out of earshot, the orange soldier peeked out of Blue Base. He quickly scanned the area, and West ducked behind the rock. West counted to ten before continuing her observation.

It took West awhile until she spotted a diminutive amount of orange on the green grass. It was hard to pick out, but it seemed like the orange soldier was stretched out on the ground . . . for a _nap_!

That was it. West was now confidently, absolutely, positively . . . almost certain that Caboose was the orange Simulation Stooge. There was no need to ask Delta to verify.

West checked to see if both of her guns were loaded. Once she was sure they were, she left the safety of the rock. Slowly, but carefully, West made her way through the open plain. It was against her instincts to be out in the open, and she had to fight them to approach her intended target. It was now the past the point of no return. But West didn't mind. She sort of liked problems that she had to fix on her own.

West was ready to finish a job that was neglected.

* * *

Simmons and Grif were once again doing what they had been doing for over two weeks. Simmons was actually doing his assigned job. And Grif was . . . being Grif. Both were dreading tonight's weekly meeting with the rest of the simulation soldiers. But Grif in particular, since Sarge wanted to put his life on the line again.

Speaking of the Devil, Sarge pulled up the badly beaten Chupathingy. Instantly, Simmons pulled his right hand up to salute his superior. Sarge did the same and then picked up his shotgun.

"At ease, Simmons." Sarge ordered. "Is everything ready for tonight's plan?"

"There's a jug of Kerosene just forty feet from the meeting place. Along with a couple dozen matches, just in case Grif messes up lighting one." Simmons informed. "Everything is accounted for, Sir. And I must say, a mighty nice job to boot."

"You're such a Kiss-ass . . ." Grif muttered, ignoring Sarge's presence.

"Well done Simmons. With both your jobs and the compliments." Sarge approved.

"You've got to be kidding me." Grif exclaimed as he waved his hands around like a mad men. "You're seriously going to kill me for a war that doesn't even exist!"

Sarge didn't seem to like what Grif was saying, and he again raised his shotgun to his face. Sarge let out an animal like growl. Normally, this would have startled Grif, but he was too pissed off that they were actually going to follow through with Sarge's insane plan.

"That's insubordination, Grif!" Sarge exclaimed. "I did expect it from you, but it's got on my nerves for the last time! The war between the Red Army and the Blue Army is real! I've seen it do horrible things to my fellow soldiers for years on end. And if I have to fire a shotgun shell to your face to make you believe that, I will . . . dirtbag."

"You're completely mental!" Grif yelled as he hit the shotgun out of his face. "I'm not doing it and you can't make me!"

"Oh yes I can!" Sarge yelled back, somehow gaining the personality of a seven yr. old, "I'm your commanding officer! I've fought through dangerous beaches of pirates while trying to find Davy Jones' heart in an unknown land with only the support of my enemies and lovers. And that was long before you were even born."

"That's a movie, Sarge. You're talking about Pirates of the Carib-bean." Grif muttered.

"Actually, Grif, its pronounced Caribbean, not Carib-bean. It's just one word, not a fake word tacked onto bean." Simmons corrected.

Simmons was ignored as Grif and Sarge continued their pointless argument. Simmons let out a sigh and tried to ignore them.

"I've had enough of your nonsense." Sarge said as he climbed into the driver's seat of the Chupathingy. "Simmons, remind me to shoot Grif if he doesn't die tonight."

"I'd be happy to comply, Sir." Simmons agreed to Sarge's demand. He headed to his usual position on the back of the Chupathingy.

After both soldiers in the Chupathingy were situated, they stared at Grif to hop in the passenger side. Their plan was to drop him off on their way to the meeting. Grif would then wait for the cue word, which would be "Cue Word", to douse himself and then ignite his body.

However, Grif remained where he stood and just stared at Sarge. He shook his head and leaned against the base.

"Well?" Sarge said, "Get in Grif."

"No, I'm not fucking doing it." Grif whined.

"It's better if you just accept your death now with what dignity and honor you have. If you had any dirtbag." Sarge said, raising his shotgun to Grif's face again.

"No! I'm not fucking helping you in a war movement for a war that doesn't exist!" Grif shouted and he hit Sarge's shotgun again.

However, this time, Sarge let his trigger finger have some fun, and a shell was released from the weapon. A shotgun shell flew past Grif's right ear, causing a ringing sound to bounce through his head. Grif let out a small squeal and then he fled to the inside of the base for safety, away from the lunatic and his kiss-ass.

Grif's foot caught on a small rock that was jutting out of nowhere, and he floundered like a drunk as he tried to regain his balance. After a couple seconds, Grif was back on his feet, with less dignity than he had before. Grif felt really foolish and felt his face redden with anger a little, but he didn't stop retreating in the temporary base.

Simmons was snickering at Grif's clumsiness, thinking that Grif hadn't moved that fast since Tex kept beating him in his groin. And even then Grif didn't move fast enough to escape the onslaught of pain. Sarge, conversely, was fuming with rage. He gripped the steering wheel with tremendous force, and the steering wheel even dented a bit. Sarge growled like the Meta had and then turned around to see Simmons staring at him.

"Should we carry on in our plan?" Simmons asked, his voice hesitating a bit. "Do I have to drag Grif out here?"

"Naw, we'll just use Donut's body instead." Sarge compromised.

_Somewhere else in Valhalla . . ._

"I'm really hungry for some nice, well cooked oatmeal raisin cookies. Of course, they should be less than ninety calories for each serving." Donut silently said to himself. "Hell, I'd even take a Strawberry Frappuccino with extra cream and foam!"

_Back at Blue Base . . . _

"Excellent fall back plan, Sir." Simmons said, not knowing how Donut's immobile body was going to ignite istelf.

"Of course it is! Now let's get going." Sarge said as he pulled the Chupathingy foreword.

Grif stood by the base's entrance, listening to for the Chupathingy to get far enough away for him to slack off in peace. Soon enough, Grif could barely hear the Chupathingy's engine. He then decided it was time to go back outside. But first, he peeped his head out of the entrance, as if to make sure both Sarge and Simmons had left. There was no one in plain sight.

Finally confidant that he was alone, Grif went out to the open field by Blue base and sat down. He took off his helmet and let his long, shaggy hair breath in the faint breeze. He didn't sweep them out of his eyes, but rather just ignored them as he quickly became horizontal. Grif put his hand underneath his head and closed his eyes. He took in a deep breath and let out a content yawn.

With Grif's body stretched out, he listened to the sounds of Valhalla. The stream was very relaxing, and Grif soon felt his body sink deeper into an unconscious state. Sun rays were hitting his armor, and the best way that Grif could describe it would be a heated blanket of comfort. A smile appeared on his face, almost like a child's. This is what Grif lived for—to be the lazy bastard that Sarge called him.

Something was wrong. Grif could feel it. But as usual, Grif ignored this feeling for a more comfortable one. He didn't even bother to think that he was being jumped on. That is, until it was too late.

A heavy force slammed against Grif's stomach, and he let out a sound of surprise. He opened his eyes to see a soldier in blue armor that he's never seen before. It was blood splattered; covering most of the soldier's left side. Bullet hole also covered the soldier. Grif could see blood trails going down the legs of the Unknown Soldier from these bullet holes. The helmet also was covered in layers of reddish brown blood. It was a terrifying sight.

But it wasn't as terrifying as how the soldier was holding its body. The soldier wielded at rusty, blood covered knife in one hand, which was currently being held at Grif's unprotected throat. But the other arm was held limp, as if there were no bones in the soldier's arm. Its head was tilted to the side of the limp arm. Through Grif's trembles, he could hear ragged breath that was very similar to the Meta's.

"Oh God!" Grif screeched as he finally decided what this thing was. "A Zombie!"

Where was the Chupathingy now that Grif needed it to go to Alaska? Damn Sarge for taking it.

"Quiet before I cut your throat out." The Zombie Soldier quietly threatened. "Don't test my patience; I was born with none."

The Zombie can talk? In all of the zombie movies that Grif saw, they couldn't talk. They were too stupid, and too dead, to talk. Maybe it was a new kind of zombie that the government made? Whatever kind this Zombie was, it was freaking the hell out of Grif.

Grif made a weird sound in the back of his throat. It was the only sound he could make when he was this scared. The Zombie Soldier didn't like that and pressed the knife harder onto his throat.

"Answer all of my questions and I may just kill you faster than I would want to." The Zombie Soldier bent over to his ear and muttered this.

It was then that Grif realized that this Zombie Soldier was a Chic, and he didn't know whether to be more afraid or not. In the past, he's had more trouble with female soldiers, like Tex, than guys. And it was a Zombie Chic Soldier, too. The worst kind.

"What do you want from me?" Grif asked, his voice trembling.

Grif's body was shaking, and that made it harder for the Zombie Chic Soldier to hold on. She almost fell over, but quickly kicked him in the nuts to make him stop moving as much. With a shot of pain running through Grif, he turned his head away from the Zombie Chic Soldier. And through the throbbing, Grif could barely make out his Battle Riffle that was about ten feet away. He had to distract the Zombie Chic Soldier, and get that gun.

"I want information." The Zombie Chic Soldier stated, her voice seething with rage. "Tell me everything you know about AI units."

This surprised Grif. Usually zombies only wanted to dine on the living's flesh.

"All I know about them is that Freelancers were given them. And that they were stolen by one of their own. They cause nothing but trouble!" Grif said as he readied his body for a counter attack.

The Zombie Chic Soldier brought her protected head closer to Grif's face. There, she whispered coldly, "you lie!"

And just then, Grif kicked the Zombie Chic Soldier in the groin. But he didn't do it to cause her pain like she just had to him. Grif did it to knock her away from his body far enough so he could make a break for it.

And it did just that. His kick sent the Zombie Chic Soldier flying a few feet away from him. The force of his kick sent the Zombie Chic Soldier in a coughing fit. It sounded really unhealthy, but what could you expect from a Zombie. Grif took a foolish glance to see the Zombie Chic Soldier on all fours as if to heave.

Grif's kick gave just enough distance for him to turn around and start crawling on all fours towards his Battle Rifle. Through his gasps, he slowly made it to his gun. Grif turned around to face the Zombie Chic Soldier and shoot her from a distance. But sadly, she herself was starting an attack.

Expertly, the Zombie Chic Soldier had thrown her knife towards Grif's hands. The knife had hit her intended target and it stuck into Grif's left wrist. It was painful, and Grif led out a yelp and dropped the Battle Rifle before he could fire it. It seemed like all hope was lost for Grif.

Miraculous for Grif, though, as the weapon hit the ground, a few shots were fired. It wasn't at the direction of his attacker, but someone in Valhalla would have hard it and would come to help him. And he knew that.

The Zombie Chic Soldier knew that too and let out an insane growl. With full force, she clumsily tackled Grif who was still nursing his new injury. This sent both of them into the stream by Blue Base. She again was on the top of him in a matter of seconds. But this was more dangerous than before, as Grif was having trouble keeping his head out of the water to breath. His head was bobbing up and under the water; her newly acquired SMG stuck under his chin.

"You made a very dreadful mistake, Caboose. I can't kill you, but you don't necessarily need to be in perfect condition to get my information." The Zombie Chic Soldier fumed.

"Wait? I'm not Caboose!" Grif yelled, seeing his chance at freedom. "My name's Grif, Dexter Grif!"

There was almost no pause as the Zombie Chic Soldier screamed at him like a rabid kid on steroids, "I don't believe you!"

And with that, she swiftly hit Grif's head multiple times with her SMG. Grif could feel an immense amount of blood escaping from his nose. The blood was replaced by water as he had trouble keeping his head above the water. Grif's only thought at first was, _Ouch!_ But then he thought that this Zombie Chic Soldier was demented and feral.

But suddenly, the Zombie Chic Soldier stopped her attacks and put her SMG on her belt. She pulled Grif's head up by his hair, causing him to cry out in agony. Grif could almost see through her visor, and see her mad eyes fiercely looking at him.

"Fine, I believe you . . ." She muttered at a sane volume, but then she was screeching at the top of her lungs. "But that just means that I can kill you now!"

Just as the Zombie Chic Soldier pulled her SMG off of her belt and brought it to Grif's now blood covered face, shots were heard. As if in slow motion, Grif saw as bullets hit the Zombie Chic Soldier's useless shoulder. Black holes in the blue and red splattered armor marked where the bullets hit.

It only grazed her, but it seemed to cause her extreme pain.

The Zombie Chic Soldier seemed to move in the direction of the bullets and fell off of Grif and into the stream. She rolled around in the water, screaming her head off, causing some pain for Grif, and the new shooter, Simmons.

As soon as the Zombie Chic Soldier was off of him, Grif ran for his life. He ran towards Simmons, who was armed with an Assault Rifle. Grif hid behind Simmons as if he was a little kid hiding behind his mother. Simmons would have shot Grif's attacker again, but he was too shocked when he got a closer look at Grif's wounds.

"Sarge is on his way here with everyone else. But it's gonna take a while." Simmons stated. And then Simmons asked through the girl's screams. "What did she do to you!"

"Anything that she would have done to Caboose!" Grif exclaimed as he wiped some of the blood off of his face. "Must be an ex-girlfriend he dumped for Church."

"This is no time for jokes!" Simmons yelled as he reloaded.

Simmons was right; the Zombie Chic Soldier was standing up now and was wielding her SMG. Most of the blood had washed off of her, but her own was seeping through the holes again. She was growling almost exactly like the Meta had when he was extremely pissed off.

"Are you Caboose?" She yelled at Simmons; her head rolling around and giving her a hysterical look.

_Oh god, _Simmons thought, _a Meta that can talk!_

"No!" Simmons yelled back, frightened by his last thought. "What do you want from Caboose?"

The Zombie Chic Soldier ignored his question and let out a ferocious roar. She then let out a rip of bullets from her SMG. They weren't very accurate as she ran towards the two Simulation Stooges, but they freaked him out. Simmons was so scared that he briefly forgot how to fire his weapon.

The Zombie Chic Soldier took that opportunity to unarm Simmons. She quickly put her SMG on her waist and punched Simmons in the elbow of the hand that was holding the Assault Rifle. The Zombie Chic Soldier then twisted her arm around his until she grabbed the gun. And then she quickly whacked Simmons with his own gun.

"Why are you hitting yourself?" The Zombie Chic Soldier taunted Simmons, sending a cold shiver down his spine.

Unwillingly, Simmons let go of the gun so it couldn't cause any more pain to him in the ribs. The Zombie Chic Soldier took it and expertly clubbed Simmons in the head with it. There was just enough force in her attack to knock Simmons unconscious. He fell to the ground, and Grif watched, horror struck. He thought that the Zombie Chic Soldier just killed his friend.

But she wasn't done yet. The Zombie Chic Soldier aimed the Assault Rifle at Simmons head, which was now also bleeding as bad as Grif's nose, and was about to shoot. However, Grif mustered up enough courage to tackle her before it was too late. Grif did it with a animal like call, just like the Zombie Chic Soldier had done multiple times. The force knocked the weapon out of her hands and they both fell to the ground.

This time, their roles were switched. Grif was on top of the Zombie Chic Soldier and was furiously punching at her helmet. Grif didn't know how long his courage would last, so he let her have it. However, they weren't well placed and the mad girl easily dodged almost every single one. Fortunately, the ones that had been landed seemed to cause the Zombie Chic Soldier extreme pain, as she screeched as the well laid punches hit her.

Angrily, the Zombie Chic soldier punched Grif's stomach, and he couldn't keep his attack up anymore. They separated once more and started to combat while standing up. Quickly they punched and kicked at each other. No one landed a blow, but it was intense. Blood and perspiration was dripping from both of their bodies.

Without realizing it, they were both putting distance between each other. They were circling, seeing which one wanted to make the next move. Neither wanted to, knowing that the only way to kill each other was to use a gun.

But something yelled out to them. And both soldiers turned around to see Doc, Caboose, Tucker, Wash, and Sarge standing on the hill. All five of them were preparing their weapons for battle, if you count Doc preparing his medical scanner too.

"Finally," Grif muttered, "It's about time."

Grif pulled away from the match and headed for cover. The Zombie Chic Soldier ignored him and was worried about the cavalry. In her state, she could take two soldiers easily, but three would be pushing it without outside assistance in the form of an AI construct. Six soldiers, including the one she was just beating up, was a death sentence.

Without even thinking about it, the Zombie Chic Soldier took a Frag Grenade and ripped the safety off in one hand. With excellent aim, despite her current condition, she threw it at a boulder that was coincidentally precariously balanced right in front of the opening of where the five new soldiers were. As planned, the Grenade stuck between the boulder and the cliff it was resting on, and it exploded. This caused the boulder to tumble down and seal the entry from this side of the Valley.

"Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me!" Grif called out when he watched the boulder fall. "No one can make that through!"

Only one soldier was fast enough to dodge the boulder. The Zombie Chic Soldier saw that it was a soldier wearing blue armor with yellow trim. Grif knew that it was Wash.

Agent Washington stared for a moment as he recognized Carolina's armor. But he wasn't surprised to see it. He knew it wasn't her. He saw her dead body with his own eyes. Whoever it was had stolen the armor from Command.

"Aw fuck!" Grif heard Tucker yell from the other side of the boulder. "We have to go around; it'll take a couple of minutes."

Grif was losing strength, and Wash could see that. Wash motioned for Grif to lie down and rest. It was a motioned that signaled that this was his fight now. He cocked his Battle Rifle.

The Zombie Chic Soldier noticed this too and quickly grabbed her own Battle Rifle.

"Are you Caboose?" The Zombie Chic Soldier screeched like a pig.

"Careful, Wash, that's a Zombie!" Grif warned with the last of his strength.

"That's not a Zombie, Grif. That's someone who's impersonating a Freelancer." Wash corrected him. And then Wash tried to bait the Impersonator by saying, "And what if I am?"

"Then I can't kill you, but I can definitely injure you critically, you bastard!" The Impersonator spewed.

Soon a firefight started between the two opponents. It was fascinating to watch as both soldiers seemed to elegantly dodge each other's bullets as they ducked behind rocks and the occasional tree. Both were rolling across the ground, sliding behind cover. They were almost exact equals.

"Even though they're trying to kill each other," Grif said, "this is pretty fucking awesome to watch."

Soon, as Wash and the Impersonator gained ground between themselves, they stopped firing. They abandoned their long distance weapons and were soon rolling around on the ground together like pigs. During that, they picked up weapons. Wash grabbed the blood covered knife, and the Impersonator picked up her SMG.

Clearly, she had the upper hand, even though she had taken more damage to her side. But they both pressed their weapons against each other's throats, seeing who had the stronger will. They couldn't see each other's eyes, but both pairs were filled with a black rage.

"What do you want from Caboose?"Wash asked through gritted teeth, his muscles pulling him away from her SMG.

"Personally, I want you dead." She croaked at him, still believing he was Caboose. The Impersonator was also trying to pull away from his own weapon. "But I need information on the AI you took."

Wash had taken several AI units in his life, so hopefully, he could distract her long enough for him or Grif to kill her. But something was off, something was eerily recognizable. Even though her voice was damaged, it sounded too familiar for comfort.

"Why do you need the information?" Wash muttered.

And then the Impersonator seemed to finally snap mentally in half and she screeched as loud as she could her answer. It sounded as if all life was dying in her shriek

"Because you were the one who caused everyone I know to die!" The girl shrieked as she pushed her SMG further into Wash's throat.

Finally, Wash remembered who that voice belonged to. He dropped his knife in amazement and just stared at her. Even with the armor on, he could clearly see who it was who held him at gun point.

"It can't be." Wash muttered to himself through her shriek.

And just as Agent West Virginia was about to pull the trigger, Wash saw as a dart was lodged between her helmet and chest plate. He instantly recognized what it was and watched Agent West Virginia fall to the ground, knocked out by the tranquillizer that Doc had just gotten in the last shipment.


	12. Decisions, Decisions

Wash scrambled away from the unconscious Freelancer. It was like seeing a real ghost, not counting Church when he thought he was one. West had been identified dead for almost three years now. Everyone thought that she was the Meta's first victim. Yet here she was, completely insane and as deadly as ever.

Wash was curious, and he crawled back towards West's body. The last time he saw her face, she was a little kid. If you call a nineteen year old a kid. How old was she now? Almost twenty one; he remembered that West's birthday was in the fall.

Carefully, Wash unfastened West's helmet. He took her helmet off and then set it beside him. Wash could feel Grif limping towards them. Grif was gasping in pain from his injured wrist.

"What the hell are you doing, Wash?" Grif asked.

Wash shushed him as he observed West's face. It looked almost the same, except older. It was extremely pale; Wash wondered if West had gotten any sun since she disappeared. There were three long scars that started on the right side of the cheek bone and went down her neck. Her nose was a bit crooked, just how he remembered it back during training. Wash was actually the one that caused that accident, and a gut wrenching emotion emerged in his stomach when he thought about it.

Wash opened one of West's eyes. It was bloodshot, probably because of her current mental state. Wash had never seen West this crazy before, but he had a pretty good idea why she was.

"Okay, can you tell me what the fuck is going on?" Grif impatiently asked.

Wash looked up to see that everyone was by the knocked out Simmons. Doc was treating the maroon soldier's injuries as they spoke. The rest were intently watching Wash examine their attacker next to Doc.

"Let's talk with the others." Wash negotiated, "Just help me carry her towards Simmons."

"Dude, I can't carry anything when my wrist is like this." Grif held up a blood seeping hand that looked pretty damaged.

Wash nodded and stood up. Like a fireman, he picked up the unconscious Freelancer and swung her onto his shoulder. West was heavier than she used to be, but he had almost no issue going uphill from where he was. Grif followed Wash, glaring at the unconscious girl and wishing that he could just shoot her right there.

"I see you two are fine." Tucker addressed when they were in earshot.

"Say that to my wrist. And my face." Grif muttered as he headed towards the medic.

With Simmons' bleeding stopped, his head all bandaged up, and still unconscious, Doc turned to help Grif. He let out a startled, "Oh my!" before getting some more gauze ready. Doc started to disinfect the wounds when the rest of the Simulation Soldiers ignored the two. Soon, all eyes were on Wash and the drugged Freelancer.

"Is that the Freelancer you were talking about?" Tucker asked, "Why didn't you kill her?"

Wash had already told everyone at the meeting about the Freelancer, so the only one left out of the loop was a Grif. But to tell the truth, he was in too much pain to worry about who had attacked him.

"Because I know her." Wash stated as he set West down onto the ground next to Simmons.

He took off his helmet to get a better look at the Simulation Soldiers. Everyone did the same, and their faces were a mixture of hatred, shock, and fear.

"But didn't you know all the Freelancers?" Sarge asked, his voice gruff and eyes steady.

"I should rephrase that: I know her like a little, infuriating sibling, who hates me." Wash explained, "I couldn't kill her."

"That doesn't mean that I can't." Tucker said as he activated his sword. He lunged forward, but was stopped by Caboose. "What the hell?"

"It's not polite to kill people." Caboose said, still holding Church's blanket.

"Like you're the one to talk, Caboose." Tucker muttered.

"And what does that mean?" Caboose questioned, his voice rising with each word.

"I think you know just what it means!" Tucker shouted back, his voice dripping with rage.

"Now settle down, you two." Sarge said as he put himself between the two Blues. He still had Amnesia, but a Freelancer was worse news than two incompetent Blues. "Let's just talk about this like rational men, you turds."

Tucker shoved himself away from Sarge's touch and made a grumbling sound. He crossed his arms like a little kid. Caboose followed suit, but not before tying Church's blanket around his waist.

"Now start from the beginning, Wash. Who is this Freelancer and why would she want to attack us?"  
Sarge calmly asked.

"This is Agent West Virginia. Another one of Project Freelancers experiments. I told you about North and South Dakota, right? How North was the one that had the AI, and South went without. West Virginia was a part of another experiment like that. Except this one was with age difference. West was the youngest Freelancer to have an implantation, while Agent Virginia was the oldest." Wash started.

"At first, the experiment looked like a success." Wash continued. "The younger the person was when they were implanted with an AI unit; the easier it was for both the AI and the person to cooperate together. However, there was one side effect that permanently damaged West Virginia. Her brain had grown to depend on an AI unit to help function. If an AI unit was removed from her brain, she would gradually loose brain function."

"It was determined that if she went for half a year without an AI construct, she would die." Wash stated.

It was silent for a second.

"Well that doesn't answer squat about why she attacked us!" Tucker yelled.

"To tell you the truth, Tucker, I don't know why. Maybe she was close to death and wanted to see if I had an AI unit with me." Wash said. "I didn't even know she was still alive."

"I can tell you why she attacked us." Grif said as he stood up with his new bandages. Doc also stood up to check on the drugged, unconscious Freelancer. "She wanted Caboose."

Everyone turned to face Caboose, who had stopped listening to their conversation a while ago. He was currently snuggling some more with Church's old blanket. Wash was starting to regret giving him that thing. Caboose noticed that everyone was looking at him and he stared back.

"Hi." Caboose waved.

"Then my only guess was that she heard about Caboose having the Epsilon Unit." Wash presumed, "I told you that she needs an AI to live."

"Okay, so a mentally insane Freelancer came here to find an AI unit to save herself from death. And along the way, she wanted to kill of us." Tucker summed up, still holding his activated sword ready.

Wash nodded, knowing how bad that sounded.

"Okay, I think it's time for a poll." Tucker announced. In the past few weeks, polls had become a daily thing for the Simulation Soldiers. Any decisions that affected all of them were made in the form of a poll. "Everyone raise their right hand if they want to kill this Bitch."

Tucker raised his own hand. Grif also raised his hand, as he was carrying a grudge from his injured wrist. And unexpectedly, Doc raised his hand too in agreement.

"Doc?" Wash asked, surprised about his involvement.

"I may be a pacifist, Wash. But I don't want her to wake up and kill all of us. This girl is bad news." Doc explained as he was treating her wound to the shoulder. "The only reason why I'm treating her is because it's my job."

"Okay, everyone raise their right hand if we should let West Virginia live and then decide what to do from there." Wash said.

Wash raised his hand and waited to see who else would too. To his amazement, and Grif's, Sarge raised his.

"What the fuck, Sarge?" Grif asked his superior. "Why do you want her to live; she almost killed Simmons!"

"Yes, but she also almost killed you!" Sarge said, approving the insane woman's actions. "She had the opportunity and she took it without hesitation. Besides, Blue Team always gets the Freelancers. First Tex, and now apparently Wash. Its high time Red Team gets our own Freelancer. And she's just what I want. I call Dibs!"

"I can't believe this is happening . . ." Grif muttered.

Everyone turned to face Caboose, who was still thinking if he should raise his hand or not. Sarge had said that the mean lady had almost killed his team member. And Sarge sounded . . . happy about that. And Caboose had killed Church more than a couple times. And Church was happy about that. So . . . that meant the lady had a lot in common with him.

And to everyone's utter bewilderment, Caboose raised his hand, smiling like a little kid.

"I think we should not kill her." Caboose said through his huge smile.

Tucker and Grif groaned in unison. Tucker muttered out of everyone's hearing range, "I don't even want to know why he said that."

"So, it appears that we are at a standstill." Sarge announced, "Three votes to kill her, and three votes to not kill her. The suspense is tearing me apart!"

"What about Simmons? I'm sure he'd vote to kill her." Grif pointed out.

"Grif, Simmons is out cold. It's not fair to vote for someone else." Doc said, reverting to his pacifism, "We just have to wait for West Virginia to vote for herself in a couple minutes."

It was silent as everyone took in Doc's last sentence.

"What did you just say?" Wash asked.

"I said we have to wait for the girl to wake up. The dart I used to knock her out only has an effect that last's for twelve minutes. And that was ten minutes ago." Doc said in an almost jolly manner.

Everyone snapped to attention. No matter if they wanted to kill the new Freelancer or not, she was still a danger if left unbound. They had to use precaution around her.

"Quick! Tie her wrists together!" Wash ordered. Caboose jumped to help Wash.

"I got her ankles!" Tucker joined in. "Give me an extra pair of hands, Doc!"

"No! I'm treating her injuries! Get Sarge to help you!"

"I'll never help a dirty Blue." Sarge muttered, still having no recollection of the past few weeks.

Everyone who was still conscious turned to face Sarge; their faces were the same copy of panic and fear. It was surprising for Sarge to see the whole lot of them, Reds and Blues alike, acting as one whole body. As if they were all equal. For a brief second, it looked like it didn't matter what side they were on, they just acted as one group to yell at him.

"Just do it!" Everyone shouted at Sarge at the exact same time, except for Caboose who shouted just a couple seconds after they finished. "Just it . . . do!

Sarge grumbled out a response and bent down to help Tucker.

As fast as they could, the simulation soldiers used Doc's extra gauze to bind up her limbs. Although extremely stretchy, the gauze held together as Wash and Tucker wrapped it around the Freelancer's ankles and wrists.

Just as they finished tying the girl up like a cow, West started to moan and fidget around. Everyone except for Wash readied their weapon of choice. Sarge even bent down to make sure his shotgun was in her face. Wash shoved him out of the way so he wouldn't scare West into another attack.

They formed a half circle around the Freelancers. Doc, Tucker, and Sarge were just behind Wash as he eased West bake to awareness. Caboose was poking around Tucker and Sarge, curious and yet frightened of the new arrival. Grif stayed out of the circle, with Simmons. He wanted to make sure Simmons would be alright.

"Hey, West." Wash whispered to try and arouse her. He bent down so she could get a better look at him when she actually would wake up. "Come on, West. Wake up."

West grumbled a bit and then answered him with a soft, "Fuck off."

Wash laughed a little, remembering that that was the first thing she said directly to him. She probably didn't mean to say those exact words. It's just what she was thinking in her ailing state.

"If you don't wake up now, I'll leave you with our Medic." Wash threatened sternly.

"What does she have against medics?" Doc defensively asked as he finished bandaging her bad shoulder. Doc was quickly shushed by the rest of the Simulation Soldiers.

"Alright, alright." West muttered. She tried to rub her eyes open with her hands, but they were tied down. As soon as she realized that, her eyes opened wide and they took everything in. "What the fuck did you do to my hands?"

Grif exploded then, and he pushed everyone out of his way so he could give West a piece of his mind.

"What the fuck did you do to _my _hand?" Grif shouted. His face was as red as a tomato, furious, and he raised his hand at her to make his point.

Sarge shoved him back behind the circle so he couldn't spook the girl into another attack. But it wasn't needed, because West wasn't paying an ounce of her attention to any of the Simulation Stooges. Her eyes were, actually only one eye was, fixated on a single face. Her jaw slightly dropped from the shock.

"David?" West whispered.

"Yeah, it's me, Leslie." Wash nodded his head.

"Man, you look old." West said, taking in every detail that was changed over time. Wash looked older to her, not the college kid she remembered. "I thought you were dead."

"I could say the same thing." Wash stated, "But you look pretty close to death right now."

"Oh, ha ha." West muttered, not actually being jolly about it. She then looked around her, "Who the hell are these people?"

But before anyone could say anything to her, insulting or not, Doc intervened. He stood up to look down at her and tried to feel more superior than he was capable of.

"Now's not the time for introductions." Doc said, waving a finger at her. "Now's the time for resting. From what I can tell, you need to recuperate your brain and rest your shoulder."

West could immediately tell that Doc was a medic, and she scowled at him. Memories of medics from Project Freelancer jumped in her head, and they shot down her faith in Doc. However, Wash had complete trust in the incompetent medic and picked the constrained Freelancer up. He groaned at the weight difference, but she was actually fairly easy to lift.

"Wha—, Wash? What are you doing?" West panicked as Wash began to follow Doc into Blue Base. "I'm not going in there with that butcher!"

However, Wash ignored the screaming girl and continued towards Blue Base. Doc was leading the way and was humming merrily for some odd reason. The rest of the Simulation Soldiers just watched them as they entered the base, the newly arrived Freelancer screaming at the top of her lungs.

"So," Grif said, "can we bunk with you guys tonight? I don't want to be within a hundred feet of her."

Tucker nodded understanding. "Dude, can we bunk with you guys forever? I have a pretty good guess that she's gonna stay with us. I mean, with Blue Team after Doc stops torturing her."

Everyone nodded their heads and gave out some other form of agreement. Without further adieu, they turned around and grabbed an unconscious Simmons and started to make their journey towards Red Base.

Poor Simmons, they dragged his limp body on the ground as they left; only pulling him forward with his left leg. That would be sore when he would wake up later.


	13. The Directors

**Command Central Headquarters**

**Corporate Wing **

**Time— 8:23:49**

Two soldiers protected in a heavy white armor walked down the hallways with their Battle Rifles in position. They didn't speak to each other, as other soldiers would had only months ago. Their gaze didn't shift to each other either; both pairs were fixed on the prisoner in front of them.

Even their posture was perfectly aligned with each other. If anyone was around to watch this pair of soldiers, they would think that they were not _human_. No one could ever match the person next to them. But the two soldiers didn't even pay attention to each other. Their attention was on their directive and their directive was about the prisoner that they were transporting.

The prisoner in front of the two soldiers in white armor was in an old, orange prison jumpsuit. He had spent at least four months in a jail cell in his own detention center. Oh the irony, making something for defectors that he would be forced into.

The man was old, at least in his late fifties. His hair, that was originally coal black, had begun to grey in places over the years. The man didn't mind; he thought that it made him look experienced. But in the last few months, almost all of the black had disappeared, and even some of dark grey had turned white. This was from the stress that was overloading him.

The man also wore thick, old glasses. He couldn't see without them. If the man had tried to, he would have fallen flat on his face, giving him a severe nose bleed. The man was having trouble as it is due to the fact that the left lens was badly cracked. While in prison, he had demanded a new pair, but his requests were ignored by the guards.

Currently, the man in the prison garb was sleep deprived. The past few days, the prison guards had been instructed by their superior to keep him awake, at all cost. During the day, the air conditioning would be turned off, causing him to bake. And then, before nightfall, the guards would hose him down, and then turn the air conditioning on full power, making it unbearably bitter. Too cold to let the poor man sleep.

The guards stopped feeding him two days ago, and his stomach was in so much pain that he had to bend over. The prisoner was walking like a hunchback, making him too slow for the two soldiers' tastes. If the prisoner fell too far back, both guards would swiftly hit his back with the butts of their guns with brutish force.

And then one of them would drone, "Faster, prisoner. You are lucky to have this meeting at all."

It was the same response every single time. And not only were the words the same, but the fluctuations in both of their voices would be spot on. It was like it was on a tape recorder. The prisoner would get more nervous ever time they would say it.

And every time the guns met his flesh, the poor man would cry out in obvious pain. It was a miracle that he hadn't fallen down yet in pain or internal bleeding

But the prisoner was not nervous about where he was going. No, for decades, the prisoner had walked down these halls. As a free man, not a prisoner in his own adobe. He knew where he was being taken by force. The prisoner was going towards his own office of affairs that was just down the hall from where he currently was. Where he had built a legacy, and then watched it fall apart because of a few rouge soldiers.

And that was where someone stood in his place.

As he drew nearer, the prisoner grew angrier. This shouldn't have happened to him. His life's work was being pushed aside for someone else. Someone who was, by his opinion, far less competent than himself.

The guards continued to hit him as the prisoner was forced to open the heavy doors. Quickly, the prisoner fled into the dark, ominous room. The guards didn't follow the prisoner, but stood watch by the thick doors. And for that, the prisoner let out a sigh of relief.

The prisoner turned around, not knowing what to expect. Almost all of the lights were off. And the few that were on were so dim that the prisoner couldn't clearly make out who was in the room with him. The only thing that the prisoner could see was the shape of a tall, robust male.

"It was so kind of you to join me. I know I must be taking up important time from you." The unknown man said with a deep, rich voice that was in a semi-friendly tone, but the prisoner could see through his disguise. The man's intentions were nothing close to friendly. "Would you care for a drink? Champagne or Wine?"

The prisoner heard the clang of a couple ice cubes into ceremonial wine glasses. The prisoner's own wine glasses to be exact. He didn't answer the unknown man; he was too busy fussing over the fact that it was his own drinks that the man was offering.

"No preference? I prefer Brandy myself. My all time favorite is Cognac. I simply can't get enough of it." The man continued, as if to lighten the mood up.

The prisoner heard the sound of a liquid being poured into a glass.

"What I prefer is for you to get the hell out of my Project and return to where you slithered out of." The prisoner said in a subtle southern accent.

The unknown man made a tisking sound with his tongue. The prisoner felt a wineglass being forced into his hand. The Cognac spilled over his hand and onto one of the jumpsuit's legs. The prisoner resented the fact that it would be sticky when the substance would dry.

"Why are you so cruel to your host? It's not courteous at all. Now I'd advise you to drink so we can carry on with this meeting." The unknown man said.

The prisoner did the opposite of being courteous and turned his wineglass over. The contents spilled onto his old handmade Persian rug. It would leave a horrible spot, but this didn't disturb his thoughts. It wasn't his rug any more.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I'll never drink anything that I hadn't opened myself. So I'm sorry to say that I won't accept anything from a bastard like you." The prisoner spewed.

"And I am sorry to hear that, Director Church. I would have expected so much better from you." The unknown man apologized.

"I would have expected less from a rotting pig's carcass, like yourself." The prisoner, Director Church, insulted. "Stop the act and cut to the chase."

"That's one thing that I've always admired about you. This natural desire to cut edges off and make deadlines on time." The unknown man chuckled slightly before continuing. "I, however, want to see my project completely ready before sending them out in the front line."

"Well lucky for you. Here's your chance to do just that." Director Church said as he sat down into one of his old chairs.

"Oh, I forgot my own manners. How could I not offer you a seat? But I'm glad that you were capable to help yourself." The stranger continued in his nice charade.

Faster than Director Church could respond, the stranger had moved from the opposite side of the Director's office to right next of him. Director Church hadn't noticed it, but the chair he was sitting in had been modified since his last time in his office. There were straps on the arms of the chair; actually they were heavy duty zip ties. The stranger zip tied Director Church's hands down. Director Church's first instincts were to force his way out. But in his tired state, he had no energy in his attacks.

"I suggest you make yourself comfortable. We may be here longer than you may want to be. It all depends on how well you cooperate with me." The unknown man informed.

"Or if I tell you what you want to know, Director Hines." Director Church spat.

"Exactly, now let's get down to business." Director Hines said as he leaned into Director Church. Director Church could smell the alcohol from the man's breath. "As you know, the UNSC has shut you down on several terms."

"Most of those terms that have me locked up are ones that you have committed yourself." Director Church seethed.

"I must confess that I have broken several regulations to achieve my objective. However, I had done a finer job concealing it from the UNSC than you had. But that is not the purpose of this conference. The purpose is to say that I had been granted full permission to employ my own project.

"My subjects are ready for war." Director Hines continued. "We had been preparing for years while you tested your little Freelancers as if for fun and games. However, you brought a bad lasting impression into our types of projects, and the UNSC will not let me ship out my operatives. That is, until I test them. You have already assembled a splendid testing track on this planet, so why let it go to waste? In less than forty eight hours, my operatives will individually depart from our Command. They will, with the help of our Support, find these simulation wars that you have made up and test their abilities.

"I cannot say what I expect from them. And that is the truth. They have been trained, programmed even, to kill on command without mercy. But if my operatives can gain the support and the approval from the UNSC within the month, they will be shipped to war without further notice.

"However, in the past few days, I had discovered that there was something missing from my operatives. Something that they need if they were needed to fight the aliens out there." Director Hines informed.

"And this is where I must come in." Director Church said, before spitting on Director Hines' shoe.

Director Hines pulled away from Director Church and disappeared into the shadows again. Director Hines made a racket in the darkness that spiked Director Church's curiosity, but mostly fear. Director Church had previous experience with Director Hines, and he had learned quickly that Director Hines was not the most legally bound businessman. When something went wrong, it was expected of Director Hines to do something sinister to cover it up or fix it.

Director Church had the feeling that something was about to happen to himself.

"I caught on that my squad leaders had trouble controlling smaller, less important Operatives. During intensive fire, the Operatives would disregard orders and act out of authority. The results from this were lower than unsatisfactory. I discovered that the squad leaders needed help with organization. They needed the help of an AI." Director Hines explained even further.

"And I can connect the dots from here." Director Church said through a fiendish smile. "UNSC wouldn't permit you an AI, much less several."

A hand appeared out of nowhere and smacked Director Church. Director Church felt a welt forming on his cheek. He hadn't noticed that Director Hines had returned from the other side of the room. But now that he was paying closer attention, Director Church could see that he was holding something.

"It was because of you that I cannot continue in my operation! They doubt that even one AI could be beneficial to them. It's because of your stupid mistake that my program will fail!" Director Hines shouted in Director Church's ear.

"I have to admit, that makes me feel proud of myself." Director Church spat some blood out of his mouth. It left a tainted taste.

"But you didn't cause too much difference. With you in prison here, and what is left of your Project Freelancer in shambles, I can deal some business under the tables." Director Hines whispered just before he hit Director Church again. This time, it was for pleasure. "Your little torture of the Alpha AI you were granted with is somewhat a curse and yet a gift for me."

"Are you saying you want my AIs?" Director Church said as his strength was vanishing.

"That is exactly what I am saying." Director Hines said as he literally came face to face with Director Church. "I need to know the whereabouts of your AIs."

"Tell me when you find them yourself." Director Church said through gritted teeth. "They were stolen, destroyed in an unauthorized EMP, and before we could retrieve them, stolen again. We had no idea where they had disappeared to."

"I highly doubt what you are saying is the truth. I must caution you that I will take an extreme course of action to achieve my goals." Director Hines stated. "I am not under murder or blackmail."

"Search me!" Director Church grumbled, defiant of the man.

"I intend to do just that. I will use every devious method to extract the information you are keeping from me. Starting with your daughter." Director Hines threatened.

Director Church managed a deranged chuckle. "I have no daughter. Who you are referring to was just some girl I found practically on the streets. She means nothing to me. Besides, she's been dead for over three years."

"Not according to my information. Your adopted daughter had been spotted at a Simulation Site only four days ago. She's alive, and still kicking the death into Simulation Soldiers." Director Hines informed.

"Well what do you know? I always thought she was a survivor. I made a good choice with adopting that little tyrant." Director Church said mostly to himself, and then he looked towards Director Hines' direction, "If you can kill her, I give you full permission to do just that."

Director Hines remained motionless as he took this in. His leverage was not working reasonably enough the way he anticipated it would have. Maybe a different route would be more successful. He played along, as if he had anticipated this event.

"I accept your blessing to kill your adopted daughter. For I have always been expected to clean up after your messes. I am used to it, really I am." Director Hines said as he returned to his new desk.

Director Hines opened one of the side drawers. In it, was a vial of a dark green liquid. Director Hines shook it to see if the contents of the vial were still adequate to use. After a quick second of agitation, small, crystal like structures appeared in front of his eyes. As the dark green liquid settled back down, the crystal structures disappeared.

Director Hines let out a sly smile. The substance was still in an acceptable condition.

Director Hines opened another of the desk's drawers, just below the other one. This one contained a syringe of some sort. Director Hines connected the vial to the syringe and approached a frustrated Director Church.

"I was afraid to use this form of torture. It could damage you permanently before I can extract the information I need." Director Hines threatened. "But you seem to leave this as the only option."

"I told you! I don't know where the hell the AI units are!" Director Church shouted at him.

"I'm afraid that I still don't believe you. Now hold still." Director Hines said as he stuck the syringe into one of Director Church's arms.

Instantly, Director Church's body tensed up as the substance entered his bloodstream. Director Church's breathing became static as he tried to fight the substance. It was pitiful, and Director Hines couldn't suppress his laugh down. When a third of the dark green liquid was circulating through Director Church, Director Hines removed the syringe from his body. Director set the syringe and vial down onto the desk before continuing his interrogation

"Now what you have in your system is Substance K-109. It's an experimental truth serum that my scientists had been developing for years. It hasn't been perfected yet; not even in the long shot. And I just gave you more than half the recommended amount. Consider it a little test run, like your simulated wars" Director Hines stated as he sat down into a chair by Director Church's.

"I can't move." Director Church said as his head continued to flinch for almost no reason.

"That was expected. Temporary paralysis from the neck down was designed in the molecular model. It's if the paralysis becomes permanent, then you should worry. But other than that, I should warn you, the longer that the drug is in use, the more painful it becomes." Director Hines said, sort of satisfied with his work. "So I would like to finish before you start screaming too loudly."

Director Church continued to flinch as Substance K-109 harmed him from the inside. In a few minutes, he was thrashing uncontrollably around as if he was having a seizure. The substance was working; he had no control over his body, but only pain and suffering.

"Now tell me, where are the AI units that you are hiding." Director Hines whispered. "I will find out eventually, it's just a matter of time."

Director Church let out a short cry of excruciating pain. But he continued to not tell Director Hines the whereabouts of the AI units. He honestly had no clue.

"You think of yourself as immortal. You think that only you have the keys to success. You think the whole universe revolves around you." Director Hines said, letting out some of his more personal conflicts during business. "You think of yourself as some kind of God, able to control everyone's lives, like a chess game."

Director Church let out another yelp, but this one was longer and had more ice to it. Director Hines felt a shiver run up his spine from the scream. It excited the new Director with cold pleasure.

"I'm here to tell you that your life was a mistake. You're nothing but a loser. Your only chance for redemption is to tell me where the AI units are!" Director Hines insulted.

Outside the office, the two soldiers in white armor that had escorted Director Church were keeping a close eye on the door. Neither of them spoke to each other. Neither of them wanted to. The only thing that both soldiers wanted was to please Director Hines or their squad leader. Nothing else mattered to them.

As the minutes dragged by, the Director's conversation rose in volume. It rose to such a volume that it became audible through the door. First, insults had been thrown around. But soon, small cries of pain had caught the soldiers' attentions. They were random and shallow.

That soon would change. Sometime later, the short cries turned into continuous screams of agony. The screams rose to levels that hurt both of the soldiers' ears. But the fact that their ears were throbbing didn't seem important to them.

Suddenly, the door to the Director's office opened and the screams increased in their volume and clarity. Down the hall, the people who worked at Command and weren't thoughtless soldiers peeked out of their doors to see what was wrong. But when they could make out the two white armored soldiers, they would nod their heads, understanding everything.

Director Hines walked out of his newly acquired office and turned to face the nearest soldier in white. He leaned towards his helmet as if to whisper instructions.

"Give me a half an hour longer with him. The effects of the drug won't wear off for another hour though. When I am done, just drag him to his cell. Use of violence is permitted, but only if needed." Director Hines ordered.

"Understood." The soldier in white armor stated, like a computer.

"And I would like to schedule two more meetings with him. A week from now and a week from then. Same time, same place." Director Hines instructed. "After that, you can kill him in any way that seems appropriate."

"Understood." The soldier in white armor stated again. It was the same thing he said before; exactly the same.

Director Hines nodded and headed back inside his office where a howling Director Church was painfully awaiting his return.


	14. I'm a Medic, not a Doctor

Days have passed since the firefight between West Virginia and the Simulation Soldiers. Tensions were high outside of Blue Base. Grif and Simmons were still fuming about their injuries. Grif had ended up wearing a crudely made cast over his injured wrist; something that Grif wasn't very happy about. And Simmons was just annoyed that he let his fear get to him again when West had attacked.

As for the Blues, they were just dreading the fact that another Freelancer was in the Valley. In the past, all of the Freelancers had been on their team. And this was one Freelancer that they didn't want.

The Reds and Blues were bunking at Red Base while Wash, West, and Doc had temporarily transformed Blue Base into an infirmary.

West, who had been slipping in and out of consciousness in the past few days, was currently sleeping in Church's bed. She wasn't a good sleeper, by any means. West would restlessly turn about and throw the covers everywhere. Occasionally, West would snore like a drunken sailor, and Doc would come running into her temporary room, believing that she was trying to strangle herself,

But when West was awake, Wash would say that she'd better off be asleep. West constantly argued with Wash with her last amount of strength before passing out again. Other than that, West constantly kept her guard up when Doc came by to check on her wounds or give her aspirin. At one point, when West was in a fouler mood than usual, she had attempted to bite Doc's hands off. Doc had left the room screaming his head off that day.

And it took all of Wash's strength to hold his laughter in.

Wash had spent most of his time at West's bedside. He didn't do it out of old feelings for the other Freelancer. Hell, he still had ice cold opinions of her. Wash would rather have North, York, or even C.T. than West.

But he decided to stay close by West for one simple reason: Wash didn't want her to escape or disappear. Something from his horrible past had remained after all this time, and Wash didn't want to risk losing it. Whether he liked West or not, they were attached through memories and experiences.

As West slept, Wash closely observed her chest rise and fall with each breath.

"Are you in there, Phi?" Wash asked West's immobile body. "I know that West couldn't have lived this long without you. Phi?"

But Wash's questions were left unanswered. Wash waited to see if his questions had aroused West before continuing his pointless interrogation with an AI unit that wasn't there. West wasn't.

"You remember me Phi? I'm the guy you told West to punch in the face. Multiple times. I still haven't forgiven you about that." Wash said it as if to make a joke, but it came off sounding confidential.

It was silent again as Wash waited for a response. But again, there was no reaction of any sort.

"Eh, who am I kidding? She's more demented than ever." Wash said to himself as he stood up. "There's no AI in her head."

Wash walked out of Church's room and straight into Doc. Doc was carrying medical supplies into the room and dropped them on the floor as they collided. Syringes and pill containers clattered against Wash's metallic boots. Both Wash and Doc watched the pill containers roll down the hall.

"Oh, Sorry about that Wash. Clumsy me." Doc apologized, being his goofy self.

Doc bent down to pick up the pair of syringes. One fell through his fingers and cracked. The other was less unfortunate and remained intact. Wash just sighed and stepped out of the way. Other than that, Wash offered no other help. But Doc didn't mind, or even notice.

Doc then proceeded to crawl down the hall, searching for at least one of the pill containers. He finally found one and promptly picked it up. Doc clumsily got to his feet and smiled at Wash.

"There we go! No damage done." Doc said cheerfully as he headed into Church's room. However, Wash's arm shot through the doorway and blocked the entrance off.

"Whoa, wait a second Doc. What are you going to do with that needle there?" Wash said, concerned.

"Well, I thought that if I give her some morphine—"

"It won't work." Wash cut Doc off.

"All I was going to say was that I was going to give her some morphine so that I can properly check her. You know, without her trying to bite parts of my body off. It's either that or another tranquillizer." Doc explained as he tried entering Church's room again. "And I don't want to waste one of those on her again. Those were expensive to ship, and not at all healthy for the environment."

Wash sighed, but didn't warn Doc further. Slowly, Wash let his outstretched arm fall to his side. Doc nodded his head as a thank you and continued into the room where West was sleeping. Wash didn't want to see the outcome and headed towards the kitchen.

Once there, Wash headed towards the fridge and found an unopened can of beer. Wash didn't know how the Red Team had smuggled beer in Valhalla, but he didn't question it either. Quickly, Wash popped the beer can open and slumped into an unoccupied chair. Wash took a gulp and waited for any sign that Doc needed help. Wash waited for a minute.

And then another minute.

And then another.

Wash found his can of beer empty after awhile. He stood up and threw the can into the trash compactor and left the kitchen. He was curious to see what had happened to Doc within the last few minutes. Wash made his way towards Church's room, but froze outside the doorway. His instincts told Wash to just turn around and let Doc be, and any other day, Wash would have listened. But since that the other last remaining Freelancer was on the other side of the door, Wash ignored his instincts.

Slowly, Wash peered through the room's open doorway. What Wash saw could only be described as interesting. Not funny, not frightening, just interesting.

West was awake at the moment and was glaring at Doc. She was sitting upright with her working hand extended out. The other one was also extended, but Doc was holding that arm's wrist so he could inject the morphine in her system. However, Doc was frozen in the position he currently was in. The syringe in his open hand was merely inches away from West's flesh.

The thing that had stop Doc wasn't that West was awake. Upon further inspection, Wash could see that West held the cracked syringe in her hand. She was also holding it inches away from Doc's bare skin. It was a silent threat. If Doc stuck that needle in her, West would probably stab Doc repeatedly until he was out of her stabbing distance.

"I warned you Doc, West's not the one for needles." Wash said as he finally entered the room.

Wash's voice caught West's attention and her eyes shifted to him. Doc took this opportunity and foolishly stuck the needle into West. West let out a cry as Doc pressed the morphine into her system. After a second's delay, West took a swing at Doc. However, Doc was surprisingly fast enough to get out of harm's way.

"There." Doc said as he backed further away. "Thanks for the help Wash."

West sluggishly turned her head to glare at Wash. But In her weaken state Wash wasn't intimidated by her eyes. Wash held up his hands in a semi-defensive position.

"Hey, I didn't have any part in this." Wash said as he sat down in the chair by the bed.

"Fuck you." West muttered. She then flinched subtly. Her eyes then flashed to where Doc had punctured her skin. "What the hell did you put in me?"

"Oh, you know, just morphine to keep the pain from hurting you. And so you'll be too lethargic to attack me." Doc said.

"It doesn't feel like morphine." West said through gritted teeth.

"Oh . . ." Doc said, "Then I don't . . . know what I just . . . injected into you."

"It stings, man." West grunted as she turned her back on Wash to keep an eye on Doc. "Reminds me of hot peppers."

"Oh!" Doc exclaimed as he finally remembered. "It's Capsaicin, the stuff that makes habaneras hot. I like to add it to my salad dressing. I must have put the morphine in the pantry and that with my medical supplies. Sorry!"

West let out a weak growl, and Doc fled the room to put the Capsaicin back in the right place. The two Freelancers watched Doc as he made his retreat. Once West was sure that Doc was gone, she turned to face Wash. She was still in a foul mood, but was at least calm enough to hold a somewhat decent conversation.

"So," West started, nodding her head slightly, "You're alive."

"Yeah, and you are too." Wash added.

Wash started to rub his knees as he tried to come up with something to talk about. Now that West was finally awake long enough to chat, he seemed to lose all of his collected thoughts. He chewed his bottom lip as he tried to recollect his last question for her. West just watched as she waited.

"How did you survive?" Wash finally formed the right words.

"Same way you did. Faked my death and took another set of armor." West informed. Her head was still hanging to one side, and she seemed irritated about that. "Spent the last few years here and there on this planet. Actually, I was able to stow away on a cargo ship right after my death. I finished some business on Earth and came back."

"Why did you come back?! If I had the choice to go back home, I would have stayed there." Wash became sidetracked.

"Because my business on Earth was finished, but it wasn't done here." West answered vaguely, still flinching from the Capsaicin.

Wash understood what West meant and let that subject drift away. Besides, he had other questions to ask before she fell asleep again.

"What happened to Phi?" Wash demanded, sounding unpleasant in the process.

West ignored Wash's irritable tone and took in a deep breath before answering. "Destroyed. I was at Command a couple months ago, raiding supplies when an EMP went off. Scared the shit out of me and I fled as quickly as I could on foot. I didn't know Phi was destroyed until I thought I was at a far away distance."

"Oh." Wash said awkwardly, connecting her claims to his memories. He was the one that had destroyed Phi with the help from Church. Wash felt a bit guilty about that, but reassured himself that the needs justified the cause in this case. "I'm sorry about your loss."

"Yeah, me too." West muttered to herself quietly.

They waited in silence to see who would speak up first after that. They didn't make eye contact; years of bickering and quarreling had left them harboring awkward feelings for each other. West was sure that if they continued talking, one of them was bound to throw a punch sooner or later. Wash was thinking the same thing.

Their silence was shattered as Doc entered the room again, whistling a tune neither of the Freelancers knew. West tensed right up again and let her predatory-like eyes rest on him. However, to West's relief, Doc wasn't holding any syringes or other medical supplies. Instead, Doc was holding a pair of shorts and a T-shirt with the Blue Army logo on the front. Of course, it was color coordinated from the blue spectrum of colors.

"What's that for?" West asked, wary. Her thoughts instantly went to the idea of him dressing her.

"Well, you've been sleeping in those clothes for more than three days. And I think you'll be more comfortable in these." Doc explained.

"Naw, I'm done sleeping." West said as she tried to get out of the bed. "I need to get out of here. Stretch my legs, and other stuff."

"Oh no! You need your rest more than anything. Now go back to sleep." Doc ordered.

"I've been sleeping for almost a week straight. Like I said, I need to stretch my legs, finish my job here, and get the hell out." West said harshly as she attempted to swing her legs to the side of the bed.

"And what exactly is your job?" Wash questioned.

West didn't answer until she had both of her feet firmly on the ground. And even after that, she only grumbled a semi-coherent answer.

"Information from Caboose." West mumbled.

The other two soldiers just barely heard West's reply, but they understood her words.

"You want information. From Caboose." Doc stated slowly. Wash frowned and pushed his glasses further up his nose bridge. He sounded doubtful, reflecting Wash's feelings. "You do realize that Caboose is an idiot."

"My sources already told me that. So yes, I do." West said as she clumsily used her working arm to push her out of the bed.

"And who, exactly, are your sources?" Wash asked, sounding professional once again.

"You don't need to know." West snapped. "Now get the hell out. I need to change."

Wash knew to stop pressing for details at the moment. West was still pretty hot-tempered, and he was already pushing his luck. The two men quickly left the room. West stumbled to the door like a drunken sailor. She slammed the door right on their heels, and locked herself tightly inside.

Wash and Doc were left staring at each other. Both weren't sure about their feelings with West meeting the rest of the Simulation Soldiers. Wash was sure that West wouldn't be able to kill anyone in her current state. But she could still do some damage before someone could get her under control.

Finally, Wash made a decision.

"Go radio the other guys at Red Base. Tell them that we're having an immediate meeting on the hill. It's time we get acquainted without someone loosing blood." Wash ordered Doc. "I'll go and get the Mongooses ready."

"Uh, Wash? Do you think that's a good idea?" Doc questioned, not moving from where he stood. He furrowed his eyebrows with concern.

"Look Doc, I'm not going to let West leave this valley for two reasons. One: We're the last remaining Freelancers and we need to stick together. I don't know exactly why, but something in me will not let her leave. Two: More importantly, she knows something that she isn't telling me." Wash said softly so West couldn't hear.

"You mean, "telling us" Wash?" Doc insisted.

Wash sighed and shook his head. "Sure, telling us, whatever. Either way, I'm not letting her leave. So it's now or never for the guys to meet West."

"Uh—"

"And never is _not_ an option." Wash sternly added before Doc could say it.

Doc just shrugged his shoulders and headed towards the radio post in the back of the Rec. Room. There, he turned on the radio and signaled for someone at Red Base. Wash nodded his head and turned to go outside where the pair of Mongooses awaited him.

Doc sat at the radio post and waited for someone to answer his call. With the amount of people bunking at Red Base, he didn't think it would take long for someone to answer. However, Doc unfortunately spent about five minutes waiting. Finally, one of the Simulation Soldiers picked up the line and answered very professionally.

"Thank you for calling Red Base, this is Sarge, how may I assist you today?" A gruff voice asked impatiently.

"Oh hi Sarge, It's Doc calling on behalf of Wash. He wants—"

"Damn it Grif! I told you to not let those Dirty Blues into our Kitchen. They could create a meat bomb large enough to kill us all! How could be so dumb!? Oh wait, now I know. Because you're Grif!" Sarge yelled, ignoring Doc.

"No I didn't! Caboose just barged in, saying that he wanted orange juice." Grif cried loud enough for Doc to hear.

"Eh, shut your pie hole!" Sarge yelled before focusing on Doc. "What does Wash want us to do, Doc?"

"He wants to hold an emergency meeting as soon as possible." Doc said before lowering his voice. "Wash wants you guys to meet the new Freelancer."

Both lines went silent.

". . . We'll be there in ten minutes" Sarge said before abruptly hanging up.

Doc thought it was rude, but didn't put much more thought about it. He turned off the radio and headed outside to check up on Wash. Doc found Wash putting more air pressure in one of the back wheels. He was surprised to find that Wash wasn't in any of his armor. Wash just had his Freelancer Tank top on with a pair of cargo shorts.

"Sarge said that they'll be at the hill in ten minutes." Doc said before adding, "Should we put our armor on?"

"I'm not. I don't want to spook West into thinking we were going to attack her. If I'm not in my armor, she'll probably think it's safe to also leave her armor here." Wash explained.

"Oh, okay." Doc nodded his head, agreeing with Wash's logic. "Should we get going?"

"As soon as West is out of that room, we're leaving." Wash said.

And just as Wash said that, a large thud came from inside Blue Base. It was followed by a high pitched "Son of a Bitch!" Both of the men looked inside to see a feeble West lying on her back. She was trying to get up by herself, but it wasn't working. She basically looked like a dying turtle. Doc and Wash hurried over to pick West up.

"Who left a fucking pill bottle on the floor?!" West seethed.

Doc didn't answer, but his face had gone from its natural coloring to a pale white. That was enough of an answer for West. She grumbled and knocked their hands away so she could steady herself without help. West looked down to her left side to see some red seeping into the royal blue colored shirt.

"Shit." West muttered.

"The fall must have started the bleeding again. Let me put some bandages on." Doc said as he grabbed some gauze from his small kit.

West didn't retaliate from the medic's touch. She knew the bleeding had to be stopped, and sooner would be better than later in this case. The only fight she put up was some threats to Doc's life that were barely audible. Finally, the new gauze was in place and West pushed the medic away from here.

"Finally, now we can go." Wash said as he turned around and made the way outside.

"One question: Where are we going?" West nervously asked as she followed.


End file.
